my skin is covered with soft hairs
familiar to my grandmother’s countenance.
We both share the ruddy complexion
of those with a Scandinavian descent,
the blush of our cheeks
rosy and apricot
prevalent in the colorings of summer fruit.
I can recall her in her little kitchen in Portugal,
the floor tiles of similar hues
to the sherry she so favored.
She appeared an elegant woman,
high rounded cheek bones,
shimmery grey hair, almost silver in its sheen.
She knew how to accent those features,
wearing a white shirt
to play off the pink and platinum tones of her visage.
You’d never guess once she was a simple country girl.
Again in her kitchen, I snapped a shot of her with my camera;
her dancers’ legs tanned, delicately crossed at the ankles
as she perched on a small wooden stool;
she wore a long-sleeved shirt,
and held a small glass of wine
raised to toast the occasion of beauty.
The light of the Algarve region summer
captured the delicate fuzz of peachiness
about her face,
reminding me of our similarities.
2016 copyright by Katie Pifer http://www.witchpetals.wordpress.com