Grandma’s wool coat, navy blue, long and plush,
covered her ample bust and slender calf muscles
completely.
And when she stepped off the train in Portland
for her annual month-long visit,
(she placed not one lick of trust in a flimsy aeroplane)
first, her sweet radiant smile coaxed the four of us
to race across the rail station’s massive polished
floor, then that coat’s strange beguiling smell, so
wondrously intoxicating, quenched our childhood
thirst like a thousand pink rose petals stashed away
upstairs, hidden underneath a folded quilt in her
Wisconsin farmhouse attic for all those many years.
No comments:
Post a Comment