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Laurel Street
by Katie Deanan arc of dresses
pinned suspended on a rope by wooden clips
rose skin crepe midtumble
sandpapered juniper sliding
splashed tunic
unfolded slip, kinked slinked weatherworn
mint mixed grey you remember
jimi Hendrix and the ache of backseat catastrophes
midnight taffeta creased
static of slow dances and rushes to giggle in
the bathroom
her
feet propped on the sink
mesh of flushed bouquet tangerine peach
turquoise coral
bought from a dirty store window, never
worn just
saved from being admired from far away
against steel hush grey hush
nylon
my grandmother clipped to the rope
her smoke and afghan blankets the
mark of tea stains
long drives through mountain passes
an arc, above a doorway
swaying in the heater breeze
11/11/2008 Posted on 11/11/2008
Copyright © 2024 Katie Dean
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Charlie Morgan on 11/11/08 at 04:49 PM ...katie, i can nearly see the street, its inhabitants, its flow of peeps and businesses...too cool! |
| Posted by Kristi Paik on 11/11/08 at 05:18 PM exactly what charile said. i started reading it because i know laurel street and you described it to a tee. Great write! |
| Posted by Sandy M. Humphrey on 11/11/08 at 08:21 PM I do not know laurel street but I feel as if I have been there now. You have a gift of imagery that is real, painting pictures with words and planting the people in the scene...amazing. smh. |
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