Trolley rails burrow in the charcoal
black asphalt, purple and green and yellow
beads dangle from tree limbs and mingle with
the leaves, trading secrets in the breeze
Phantoms waltz past the trolley, their faces
covered, hidden behind Venetian style masks,
an ethereal glow trailing after them,
grazing the rails like a bride's train
The colors in their dresses, vibrant and lively,
ebb and flow with the slow flutter of a distant
brass band, swirling, blending—a mobile
mosaic marching down Main
A bell rings, wheels screech, windows rattle, bodies
lurch forward. "Next stop!" The trolley rolls to a halt.
The colors dissipate, the music fades, leaving only
laughter's residue and a trumpet's whine.
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About the Creator
Makeda Jackson
Poet, Essayist, Activist
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