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Thursday, December 31, 2020

The Essential Wisdom of Cool Aunts

 A memory of Dorothy Gilmore

She ran the Rec Center on Rowan Street,

hosting booze-free youth nights 

spun from a jukebox and local bands. 


To me she was only Aunt Dot, 

but my friends remember Mrs. G, 

everyone’s cool aunt 


whose kitchen was always open 

to teens in need of commiseration, 

which was how she caught word 


of my early flirtation with Rio,

a mysterious pixie with lightning eyes 

who wore her skirts short and sweaters tight. 


I loved the rush of her wild allure 

and she was keen on my letter jacket – 

we might’ve made it work, 


but Aunt Dot was wise. 

I can’t recall her actual words, 

but still feel the inflection: 


You were made for so much more. 

The girl is not your kind. 

By which she could’ve meant ‘cool.’ 


I kept the jacket and lost the girl 

who would be old and gray by now, 

not an abuela who nods by the fire, 


but a wayward girl’s great aunt 

who weaves a spell from shadowed years 

to cast away the sting of tears 


and tame the fear her beauty bore: 

You’re so much more than meets his eye. 

The boy is not your kind. 









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