For Sale

20 the minnesota review Gail Koplow For Sale Back then I sold the cheap cosmetics In a discount basement store. No natural light. All four of us. Locked in That semi-circular, raised booth Where all of you held up The potions that you hoped Would make you beautiful. Miss! You all yelled. Miss! I tried to help you. Give advice to you. "That makeup is too yellow for your skin. You need more pinkish undertones. A rosy lipstick. And your skin looks dry. You need some moisture. No, not grease. A light, revitalift. A lotion." We all wore Our costly orthopedic shoes. Eight hours of standing. Up above the crowd Tired our feet out We commuted in by subway. Although my family couldn't bear the label working class as the truth I wore it with élan back then. We makeup girls believed in transformation. Thought as long as we were white, we could Ascend the ladder. Climb out of the basement. We believed that wearing fine cosmetics Expertly applied would bring America Its dreams right to our doorsteps. Even now, at sixty-three, I still believe this. Every morning, after showering I smear a dollop of the most expensive moisturizer. On my face. Then let it dry. I color in my fading skin with pink-based Pancake Stick. Apply light cloud of blusher. Expert eyeliner. Each day I sell myself. A still-attractive woman. On my better days. ...