SUZANNE
by Kyle Laws

Mona Lisa pushed back into

the tall ceilinged room

of Kaldiās Coffeehouse

on Decatur Street

in New Orleans

smells of the French

Market outside the door

"How many times, when

it all bore down heavy

on her wildwood soul,

did she" swoop up all

the truth tellers &

seers of Jackson Square

wrap them up in a cape

of a Decatur Street

haberdasher and take

them down to the river

you sit in her little boat

the lap of the wake of working

riverboats at the gentle

curve of the bow

she dips the oars--loose

& sloppy in the oarlocks

into the mouth of the river

she takes you down with her

down to the muddy rough bottomed

river of deadmanās trees

she takes you down with her

under the surface

wash in this river of souls

wash your soul in this river

Mona Lisa with the moan of

the wind in her coffee and

cigarette stained voice

her flat tinned cigarette

pack in a beaded purse

she takes it out slow

extends it in her palm

she knows you want a taste

at the back of your throat

the long slow draw

she holds it out to you

offers to wrap you up in

her cape in the corner of

the room take you down to the

river this woman who might

feed you tea & oranges

who might be Suzanne


 

WILDWOOD
By Kyle Laws

I got on the El

in North Philadelphia

not far from Tulip Street

where my father died

by the posts of the ramps

to the Tacony Palmyra Bridge

I swayed with the clickety clack

of the car pushing & pulling

on the tracks

between closed windows

in the secondstory brick

I wanted a woman with dark brown hair

to open a window

lean out with her breasts brushing

the fire escape

and hand me a flower

I wanted papaya & mango juice

served to me by the young man

in a uniform sitting next to me

I wanted Miami in April

and Wildwood in August

I wanted Elvis on south Street

and a big long car heading

for New Orleans

branches of magnolia

through an open window

of the St. Charles Street trolley

cooked seafood in the hot wind

& lips under the cream awning

of the Avenue Caf

I wanted to watch green

grow under the door

of shotgun horses

what pierces right through

and holds you there

Jesse still in Tupelo

 

I still want to be held in that way

with mussels & oysters in the air

wrapped in black shutters

my hair flowing up a fire escape

to a Mansard roof

a woman at the top of the stairs

handing me a sweet Southern rose

 

I want tulips in North Philadelphia

and the rhythm of the El as it

holds me between freezeframes

of lovers in windows

I want the reach of blue shell crabs

over the rim of a dented pot

as they are dropped into boiling water

I want butter dripping down my chin

I want Scott paper napkins

piled up beside my elbows

a red checked tablecloth

I want to ride in a convertible

down the curves of Filling Mill Road

to the neon of a boardwalk night

I want the carousel and Ferris wheel

the tunnel of love and roller coaster

I want the Days of Wine and Roses

at the Strand Theatre

The Platters and Chuck Berry

clams on the half shell

crab sandwiches at the Shamrock Bar

I want Wildwood

that sweet Wildwood of my youth


Volume 8 Index

Home