Because You Left Me a Handful of Daffodils
I suddenly thought of Brenda Hatfield, queen of the 5th grade, Concord Elementary. A very thin, shy girl, almost as tall as Audrey Hepburn (famous actress in the 1950s), but blond. She wore a dress based upon the principle of the daffodil: puffed sleeves, inflated bodice, profusion of frills along the shoulder blades and hemline. A dress based upon the principle of girl as flower; everything unfolding, spilling outward and downward: ribbon, stole, corsage, sash. It was the only thing I was ever Elected. A very short king. I wore a bow tie, and felt Like a third-grader. Even the scent of daffodils you left reminds me. It was a spring night. And escorting her down the runway was a losing battle, trying to march down among the full, thick folds of *crinoline, into the barrage of her father's flashbulbs, wading the backwash of her mother's perfume: scared, smiling, tiny, down at the end of that long, thin, Audrey Hepburn arm, where I was king.
—Max Garland
* stiffened or hooped petticoat worn to make a long skirt stand out.
Audrey Hepburn