an 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
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