Illustration (made for the poem) by John Trefry
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I went to New Orleans when I was young.
Spanish moss hung from trees like bodies in the still air.
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I wore white linen because of the heat
and the only time I felt comfortable was at three in the morning.
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Her shoulders were bare, her hips narrow like a boy’s,
her skin pale and soft as moth wings in the monochrome night.
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