Grandma’s wool coat, navy blue,
long and plush, covered her
ample breasts and slender
calf muscles completely.
And when she stepped off
the train in Portland for her
annual month-long visit,
first, her sweet radiant smile
coaxed the four of us across the rail
station’s massive polished floor,
then that coat’s strange beguiling
smell, so wondrously intoxicating,
like a thousand pink rose petals
stashed away upstairs in her
Wisconsin farmhouse attic
for all those many years.
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