Cast off televisions,
two dented washing machines, a partly-unraveled
wicker chair, a sun-weathered
beach umbrella, and a rack of donated clothes
crowd the thrift store’s driveway.
An eggplant-colored gown
dusted with rhinestones
hangs at the end of the rack. The wind
catches the thin fabric, throwing shards of light
into the air. Invisible hands
lift the hem in a curtsey
as the dress begins its solitary dance,
backed up by the stag line
of brown and tan shirts
squashed together on wire hangers.
3 thoughts on “Dancing at the Salvation Army”
Exquisite. I’m so glad I’ve been inhaling these posts slowly, deeply and forever.
Wow – this is the best comment I’ve ever gotten on something I’ve written. I will treasure these words!
❤ I'm delighted to hear this, Melinda. The best thing about it is that it was organic and rolled off from the heart.