It Might Have Been the Wind


I really do love the buildings in Salemís old downtown: the battered stairways and bricks, the occasional name or date painted above second-story windows and visible from the street, the narrow, old-style shops on Court Street and State Street with simple doors set in from the rain, the high ceilings inside, the weathered walls in the back rooms and ghostly creaking floors, the upstairs apartments and musty store rooms, the gray windows staring at each other across shadowed alleys, the ledges, drainpipes, and chimneys.

And then late one evening,
something caught my eye:
from a window high above,
a handkerchief set free
by an outstretched hand.

I climbed the steps:
on the dance floor,
the music had just stopped.

The room was empty.
I heard a rustling
that might have been the wind.

May 2, 2006















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