The Thrift Shop Dresses by Frannie Lindsay
The Thrift Shop Dresses
Frannie LindsayI 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.
MARGINALIA
I suppose I should say, stop crying. Or: He hardly ever mattered, or he wasn’t even your grandfather. But look at his face: the deep lines, the weathered skin. He is, he is, all over again.
ABOUT FRANNIE LINDSAY
Frannie Lindsay is the author of four collections of poetry: Our Vanishing (Red Hen Press, 2014); winner of the 2012 Benjamin Saltman Award; Mayweed (The Word Works, 2010); Lamb (Perugia Press, 2006); and Where She Always Was (Utah State University Press, 2004), winner of the May Swenson Award. Her other honors include fellowships from the National Endowment for the Arts and the Massachusetts Cultural Council. Lindsay lives in Massachusetts. (Source)
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ENDNOTES
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