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