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BACK Since 1996 Volume XXI Grace Cavalieri
The White Jacket
I took it to be cleaned anyway. The one I wore to Key West in February. Just the right length over shorts, capris, or skirts. I sit now in a white wicker chair . Outside with white wine. Under the Dogwood tree. When I was small I thought only rich people had such trees. Further down, the green cathedral that disappears my birds. Maybe I can think about the white cribs instead. With their soft talcum smells. Or the gown I wore with 100 pearl buttons down the back. Crystal Pensacola where wiggly babies were held in low tide. While higher on dunes Ken cooked eggs on a Coleman stove. But that is the clock of snow that stopped. Now. Here. This is better they say. This white paper. The Dogwood almost gone.
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Copyright, Grace Cavalieri. |