She would appear way down our dirt road
at the turn-off, leaving a quarter mile more
to walk to our house; ample time to run, get
mother and for her to get her saved change,
put away weekly in her left dresser-drawer.
Momma! Momma! The Avon Lady’s coming!

Lugging two big black satchels, yanked her
arms down, rounded shoulders, trudged her
gait, but she never wavered, never stopped. 
Her long dresses, dark, austere; dark as those
high-tops and thick, opaque wrinkled hose 
amazed a near-naked kid in steamy, white air. 

I never saw any evidence of the woman-things
she sold on her face or arms of weathered skin
or her unadorned, piercing…..unblinking eyes.
Her brimmed straw-hat sprinkled her plainness
with points of white light, seemingly, seeping 
from within, bathing her existence  in radiance.