After the Night
Let's step down this street right now, washed
bright as our shining faces in the early pre-dawn light.
We'll welcome the cool air of March
on our skin and breathe in the scent of freshly
baking pistolettes as we meander over cobblestones
worn smooth over time by thousands of footsteps.
We'll watch the pigeons pecking for errant crumbs
bright as our shining faces in the early pre-dawn light.
We'll welcome the cool air of March
on our skin and breathe in the scent of freshly
baking pistolettes as we meander over cobblestones
worn smooth over time by thousands of footsteps.
We'll watch the pigeons pecking for errant crumbs
in the banquette cracks suddenly startled by the passing
of a lone musician, coronet in one hand and fried chicken
of a lone musician, coronet in one hand and fried chicken
leg in the other, home-bound in his wrinkled white shirt,
the echoes of last night's melodies swirling
around his receding image.
Rodrigue blues and Hunter reds will pleasure our eyes
and a heavy spring dew will drip, drip, drip
around his receding image.
Rodrigue blues and Hunter reds will pleasure our eyes
and a heavy spring dew will drip, drip, drip
from the galleries, sparkling like fading moon dust
on the fragrant buds of the tea olives.
We'll step into that coffee shop where steaming mugs
of French roast wait for us as the sun rises
over cloudy slate roofs making them shine
like a brand new life.
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Author's Note
First published in The Dead Mule School of Southern Literature 2012.
Poem of the Month in Long Story Short, March 2014.
Other stories by Charlotte Hamrick
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Sends me to New Orleans. I can smell the French roast and hear the coronet.*
Best part:
Rodrigue blues and Hunter reds will pleasure our eyes
and a heavy spring dew will drip, drip, drip
from the galleries, sparkling like fading moon dust
on the fragrant buds of the tea olives.
I see it, smell it, feel it and taste it. What more could a poem offer? *
What Matt said.*
Yeah, it tickles the senses *
Sounds like New Orleans.
I'm so glad to be home :) Very nice, Charlotte *
Like a brand new life. **
*, Charlotte. This is such good poetry. I love this fragment:
"We'll watch the pigeons pecking for errant crumbs..."
Thanks to all for your kind comments and time!
"pigeons pecking for errant crumbs
in the banquette cracks"
That's it, that's the real thing happening right there.
"We'll watch the pigeons pecking for errant crumbs
in the banquette cracks suddenly startled by the passing
of a lone musician, coronet in one hand and fried chicken
leg in the other"
Excellent, Charlotte!
I'm right there with you. Very nice, C. Particularly liked the description of the musician.
Very NOLA. Made me a little homesick.*
This sparkles! ***
Thank you! I'm happy you all appreciate the subtleties of life in NOLA, as I do. I find it difficult to write about without sounding touristy. :)
Echoes a wonderful night*
Thanks, Beate!
"We'll step into that coffee shop where steaming mugs
of French roast wait for us as the sun rises
over cloudy slate roofs making them shine
like a brand new life."
Love it.
* So much to like here. Perfectly captured.