By Jennifer Hunt, from the archives
Scientists have yet to explain
Why time travels slower in closets
When I was small
I would open Grandmother’s medicine closet
Discovering items not stocked
On drug store shelves for sixty years
Grayed talc, odorless perfume
A squeeze bottle of solution
Designed to paint hosiery
On bare legs
With illustrations for painting seams
Up the back
I never asked why, how, or if
She ever got the lines straight
Whole generations of girls have reached puberty
Without learning how to make their naked legs
Appear hosed
Can we survive this loss?
Will we live to regret it?
