Postcard: Turning Stations

—Cincinnati, Ohio, 1972 Dear Sister, America. Late nights, we lie under the spread and listen to the stereo jazz sounds of WTKO on the FM station. He says I am so fine in my tight, pulled-back and strapless bed-sheet gown. Imagine, the polyester with sequins. A sultry Dinah Washington. Turn. He puts a pillow on his stomach, a finger to his lips and blows — he can do a Louis like nobody else. Turn, to the Golden Oldies. Sometimes, he calls me his favorite Supreme or his one and only Apollo showgirl. With the switch of a dial, we move in unison. In the infinite dark, our flickering stations turn.