Travelers Welcome

Travelers Welcome

Sunday, May 12, 2013


by Amy Soricelli

She walks down the street/ from the down side of the street I would see
her - fresh from the subways stale fuzzy air sweeping around her collar like a scarf.
Slow climb up the stairs her walk-up/pre-war apartment
shrugging off her over-coat with her two kids rubbing against her ankles like cats.
It was the soft steady sway/the tinkly sounds from the record player
she would play around and around -
the songs in their scratchy old time 'lost in love/in life' way.
Hold the needle down strong with a penny; keep the worn lusty sound from her broken heart-
broken like the chippy sets of dishes they gave out at the movies
and the characters on jelly jars for morning milk and orange juice.
Smarter than all her old boyfriends she married bad and broke it up. Smashed her own soul into
tiny sparkly pieces; she would lay them out - my Mom - like a puzzle and say...
I will move this here and here and become what I want.
And I would ask on bouncy feet....
am I what you want... am I what you want.

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