Geraldine Connolly


Empty Storefront


No, not a mirror but a city
full of shadows and post offices.
Not a city, but a store window
where wigs wait on pedestals.
No wigs. The shelves of hats,
decorated with fur and rhinestones,
sparrow feathers, smoky grapes.
The pianist sits in her dress
of moth wings. She remembers
that tune about a grassland snake,
the one where a mad barber cuts.
She remembers how the sky opens,
how the trains were no nearer
each time they advanced,
how the night sand slid
blackly into more night sand.




Geraldine Connolly is author of three poetry collections: Food for the Winter (Purdue), Province of Fire (Iris Press) and Hand of the Wind (Iris Press). A new collection, Aileron, is forthcoming in 2018 with Terrapin Books. Her work has appeared in Poetry, The Georgia Review, Cortland Review and Shenandoah. It has been anthologized in Poetry 180: A Poem a Day for American High School Students, Sweeping Beauty: Poems About Housework and other anthologies. She lives in Tucson, Arizona.




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