J. L. Jacobs
The Magnolia Hotel
Grain sprouted in drawers
of her dreams.
In the rain   in the fog
this could be
that Manhattan flat
or Thoor Ballylee at eve.
Imagine:
All the film noir scenes
where moisture hangs
dims streetlamps.
And this scene is like those
sans the dame in high heels
walking a dog in the rain.
Imagine:
All Magnolia
heavy on the air.
Water rolls
off
waxed leaves.
Imagine:
All echo
An era of trains
And this the MKT.
Imagine:
All the fabrics of the world.
Pashminas of beaded purple silk.
Chiffon, linen,
of haute couture.
Ladies in red and white
and black taffeta with velvet.
Coming and going
Talking.
The old hotel grande.
And the rooms
open to my indiscretion.
Coming and going.
“What did you find?†he asked.
I didn’t look.
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