This is my mother's red Morroco leather manicure set.
Here are the contents, most of them a complete mystery to me
but presumably not to her.
It sat on a proper dressing table.
And she sat in front of it,
Here is the sort of table that would do it justice and
there is the sort of person I might have been,
glimpsed in the mirror adjusting my earrings.
This is the contemplative pose that I might have struck while
toying with an emery board,
or applying make up.
There's that deeply self-absorbed gaze again,
the one that says,
'There's really no hurry'.
'Admire your pearls.'
'Brush your hair - 100 strokes each night.'
'Powder your face.'
'Put on your hat.'
'The world can wait.'