Silhouettes and photographs,
through the graveyard,
walking fast,
Depression era screenplays,
around the corner
fudge is made.
Streets now broken
once were paved,
dystopian playground
that can't be saved
blasting off like
rocketships,
careful to mind
broken hips.
Steadfast like masts
on olden ships,
chocolate cookies
without the chips,
a bust of a long
forgotten mannequin,
shares cobwebs and dust
with lustful novels harlequin.
Pornography disguised as romance,
good for nothing more than laughs,
that once filled the room,
then caked the walls;
the floral prints inside the hall.
Buttons strewn across the floor,
sensible spools of yarn,
and cutting boards,
I memorize ev'ry cracked tile,
one day, I will emulate her style.
When all things old are new again,
and I wish I’d paid closer attention.
Careless clouds of smoke
billowed with each puff,
of her menthol cigarettes
that made me cough.
Murder mysteries flashed
on the silver screen,
whodunits solved by
faded beauty queens.
She relives her glory days,
filled with movie stars
and runaways.
Yesterday always sounds so neat,
when she talks of brawls
that spilled into the street.
The ruthless record player slows to a halt;
hair once fiery red is now pepper-salt.
Classically beautiful,
reeking of sophistication,
a kiss placed on each cheek,
I'm fascinated.
My connection to the golden age
closes the door,
then waltzes away.
Unbeknownst to me,
this would be the last time,
I would sip mint juleps
and drink sherry wine.
My fairy grandmother
slipped away that night,
dancing off into the starry light.
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