Sue Russell

she brought it from a hike
in a paper cup
the delicate orchid
eclipsed by larkspur

but its vanilla fragrance
resurrects a twisting ride
in the back seat
of a black Studebaker

her mother brakes
spitting mountain gravel
where a grove of ancient cedars
sifts dusty streaks of light

"this is where they hang their slippers
among the musky moss and ferns
when they dance barefoot
in the forest mizzle"

she lifts one lavender speckled shoe
its heel flounced by five dainty petals
the only sign of a tiny foot
is a yellow dusting in the hollow