Postmistress With The Beehive

Her hair was a well-tended
Swirl of grey cotton candy.
Her neck, the white paper stick.
She wore a flowered blouse of
Yellow polyester, as happy
And loud as the county fair.

Everyone wondered why she
Kept the style that was just
Some strange experiment
For the fairer sex,
So many years ago.

Time moved on and the
Grand heights faded and
Hairstyles changed, because
What were we thinking?
Till no one could remember.

The postmistress with the
Fragile, ancient Beehive
Never swayed in her affection.
It was a signature look,
Or perhaps it became
A fond remembrance.

Exiting the post office,
I wave goodbye.
Not to the wrinkled postmistress
With the timeworn hairdo, but
A seventeen year old girl.
Hair freshly coiffed,
Wearing a flowing yellow dress,
Carefully pinned with a new corsage.

I see her on the very best day
When everyone watched as
She walked by,
And a certain boy
Took her by the hand and
Declared she was the prettiest girl
He’d ever seen.





6 responses to “Postmistress With The Beehive

  1. Just shared it on FB : )


  2. So sweet, Heather – is that you?? Your mom? Someone you love? LOVE poem and picture.


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