Little Sister

By Lina Rehal

​​Dressed up in my clothes,

she stomped around the house 

in high heeled shoes,

wearing lipstick and dots of rouge

I dabbed on her cheeks 

so she could be like her big sister.

She spent hours in my bedroom,

listening to my records,

playing with my perfume bottles,

going through my jewelry box,

asking questions,

observing my every move,  

being the little sister.

I wound her hair in curlers 

and polished her tiny fingernails.

We played Candyland and Old Maid.

She invited me to tea parties

in the back yard. 

I taught her how to make potholders.

We fed ducks by the pond

and threw scraps of our dinner

at the hungry gulls on Revere beach.

We rode the flying horses

at the church carnival. 

I took her to the playground

and pushed her on the swings.

Eating butterscotch sundaes,

we watched Elvis in Blue Hawaii.

She was my little flower girl,

proud of me on my wedding day,

sad that I was leaving home.

We look back at those days often,

finding humor in our own private jokes;

things between sisters.

Carousel Kisses

By Lina Rehal
They strolled the boulevard,

hand in hand,
stopping now and then 

to play a game of chance.             

He won her a kewpie doll, 
bought her salt water taffy
​and pink cotton candy. 
They went on the Ferris wheel,
 rode through the Tunnel of Love,
​had their picture taken

in the penny arcade.

Riding white horses
on the merry-go-round 
to the sound of calliope music,
they shared their first kiss.​
She caught the brass ring.

By Lina Rehal
They wore pink angora sweaters, knee-length skirts,
and satin ribbons in their hair.

They went to football games, beach parties and the
senior prom.
​They were girls then. 
They laughed and cried
 and wrote in diaries,
​told each other secrets.
They believed in fairy tales
and dreamed of knights
in shining armor.
That’s what girlfriends did.​
Now they set a table
with linens and white lace,
the good dishes and
bone china cups,
saved for such occasions.
Drinking white wine in         crystal goblets,
they nibble on crackers            and cheese,
talk about their children
and vacations by the seashore.
They plan shopping trips.
They celebrate their friendship
With birthday cakes and tea.
When old friends get together
They’re girls again.


A Faded Rose

By Lina Rehal

Pressed between the pages

of her favorite book of poetry,

she keeps a rose from long ago.

Its delicate red petals,

once soft and smooth,

now crumbled in wax paper.

A souvenir

of an event she can't recall.

Was it a birthday?  An anniversary?            Perhaps her senior prom?

Like the once vibrant color

of the flower she holds so dear,

her memory has faded with time.

She saves it 

with the withered flakes,

crushed between the pages

of her favorite book. 


The Fuzzy Pink Muse


Copyright © The Fuzzy Pink Muse. All rights reserved.

When old friends get together, they're girls again….