Sunday Poetry

Thrift Shop Dresses I slid the white louvers shut so I could stand in your closet a little while among the throng of flowered dresses you hadn’t worn in years, and touch the creases on each of their sleeves that smelled of forgiveness and even though you would still be alive a few more days I knew they were ready to let themselves be packed into liquor store boxes simply because you had asked that of them, and dropped at the door of the Salvation Army without having noticed me wrapping my arms around so many at once that one slipped a big padded shoulder off of its hanger as if to return the embrace.

Frannie Lindsay