Mom started getting
emerald green dishes
every time she went
to the grocery store.
She said Joe’s Food Mart
was giving away
free dinnerware
every time you spent
a certain amount
on groceries.
“We have to get at least
eight table settings
before summer ends,” she said.
“I really want
some new dishes
by the time you girls
go back to school.”
She said she was tired
of the yellow flower plates
she’d had for years,
the stuff she said
Dad’s Mom foisted on her
and that Dad
forced her to use.
“I always hated
those ugly dishes,” Mom said.
“I have the right
to pick out
my own things
anyway.”
Every week,
Mom made sure
to buy plenty
of canned goods
and bread
and package meals
so she’d qualify
for a free place setting.
If she didn’t spend enough,
we’d grab a box of Twinkies
for my little sister Janie,
and a couple extra packs
of Viceroys for herself.
When we got home,
we’d unpack, wash, and dry
the pieces of dinnerware
that came in a cardboard box,
keeping Janie away
and in front of the TV
since Mom said
she was too little
and might break things.
“You’re my best helper
anyway,” she said.
“Better than your Dad.”
We stacked and stored
each dinner plate
every cup and saucer,
and each glossy salad bowl
in a low cupboard
next to the sink,
setting them deep
behind pots and pans
so Dad didn’t see them.
“He doesn’t need
to know yet,” she said.
“Let’s keep it a secret.”
Mom had me keep count
of what we had
on a sheet of paper,
making hashmarks
for tumblers,
green goblets,
and extra platters
and serving bowls, too.
By the end of August,
Mom said we had
all the dishes
we’d ever want or need,
plus a butter dish
and gravy boat.
“Come sit down,” she said.
“Let’s have a party.”
She covered the dining room table
with the white tablecloth
we used on the holidays—
the one with scalloped edges
and hints of silvery thread.
Janie hummed
and put her teddy bear
in a chair
and climbed into
her seat next to me.
Mom set the table
with deep emerald plates,
rimmed with faux gold trim.
“Yay. A tea party.”
Janie clapped.
She swung her legs
saying her bear needed
a plate, too.
“You two can share,” Mom said.
Her eyes brightened
as she poured powdered milk
from a frosted Kool-Aid pitcher
into the deep green goblets.
Smiling through faded lipstick,
she sliced and served
Koegel’s Ring Bologna
on Ritz Crackers.
“Cheers,” she said.
Holding up a goblet
by the thin stem,
she took a sip,
her face reflecting
the prisms of
the cut glass.
“Let’s eat.
Before your Dad
gets home.”
