My mother would drive us to the Laundromat
on Saturday mornings. I’d sit in the back
of her old green Volvo

between baskets of blue, yellow, and pink.
She’d sing “Where Did Our Love Go”
with Diana Ross and The Supremes on the radio.

We’d park under the washed-out sign. This is our spot,
she’d say and I’d help her carry all that
blue, yellow, and pink. Then she’d lift me up

on the green Formica counter.
The glass eye would bubble and foam,
and the blue, yellow, and pink would

swish around. In the corner by the door,
fixed to the wall, the black radio would play
again “Where Did Our Love Go”

or some other tune by Diana Ross and The Supremes.
This morning my boyfriend quoted Diana.
I was in my chair eating toast, watching the blue,

yellow, and pink outside. (It’s spring now.)
He was going to his studio to paint. He said,
If you need me,

call me. I was the tan leather seats
sticking to my six-year-old thighs. I was
the sun slanting in, slapping my face.

I was eyes foaming. I was
blue and yellow and pink and blue and yellow and pink.
I was Mom and Diana singing.

Ian Spencer Bell is a dancer and poet in New York City. He has performed his solo works at Jacob’s Pillow, the Poetry Foundation, and the Queens Museum.

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Image Credit: Flickr

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