There’s a small boy, too small, one would think, for proper clothes
Carried by his grandmother into the shop
She sets him down to pick up the fine shoes, the tapestry vest, the britches, the blouse
All his size
She pushes his hair out of his face
He is the next generation of festival-goers, she promises him churros and horchata for his quiet
He is quiet
For a minute
I am waiting behind them in line with a red satin bodice that was sewn so close to my skin
That it was alive both before me and after me
Like the girl in the painting who must have winked just before the paint was applied
Her skirt falling about her like so many suitors
Jill Bronfman is a non-profit worker and parent. In recent years, her work has been accepted for publication in The Write Launch, The Decadent Review, The Halcyone, 82 Review, The Passed Note, Storgy, Verbal, Kallisto Gaia, Main Street Rag, High Desert, Flying Ketchup, Carcosa, Genre: Urban Arts, Ripples in Space, Mothers Always Write, Talking Writing, Coffin Bell Journal, Flock, Wanderlust Journal, Quiet Lightening, and a variety of law and technical books and periodicals. She has performed her work in Poets in the Parks and LitQuake, and had her story about a middle-aged robot produced as a podcast.
