Sunshining on Snow, a Parking Lot: Deja Vu

By Lydia Gilbertson
Contributing Writer

Distant, delicate bells. Wave-ridden nerves cool, small stones calling through brass
thickets. Remember cobblestone streets, remember joy, falling upon her sun hat
within a periwinkle canopy umbrella. Josephine, fragrant mist; compares staircases
and fountains. Secretly plotting when to arise. Her jacket owns malevolent tapestries,
Victorian names. Hobo shoes filling with water. Fray. A plaid mess of strings
that have trumped shuffled and bounced, adventures remember
dumpsters filled with ashes, their rest.

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