My first love affair continued years later
at the old Warwick Hotel on the block.
Now condemned, it sits across from the
Emergency Aid Building that once housed
virginal girls new to Philly; a cove still shelters
Holy Mary who protects gals roaming city streets.
On the block lies Sophy Curson, the boutique
where my mother bought pieces for her trousseau,
classy clothes for the coveted Niagara Falls honeymoon.
Like mother's, my body remained intact, but few knew
we concealed continually violated souls. Echoes of
Marvin Gaye lyrics in my head, Sinatra in hers—
empowered by absence and pain.
Amy Barone