The Corner Thrift Store
She wears simple clothes
with not a tear in the fabric,
with not a single button missing,
bought from the corner thrift store—
a scarf the color of buckwheat honey;
a skirt as black as a bell at midnight;
a chemise beaded with row upon row
of tiny white shells
gathered just before dawn.
I never tire of watching her
in her element:
the thrift store at the corner,
where the sidewalk is almost level,
and a sign in the window
says they have an opening
for someone who speaks Latin—
perhaps she will apply.
Posted on May 3, 2015, in poetry, Sunday's Whirligig, The Poetry Pantry and tagged bell, clothes, element, honey, Latin, level, opening, row, simple, store, tear, tire. Bookmark the permalink. 22 Comments.