Reduction on Poem week 13

 Another draft to clarify pronouns and other matters of concern and a little more creative erasures.
It still seems a little more loose than I would like, as this is perhaps one of the clearest drafts.

Departmental Preparations

I began to pack my suburban suitcase for our visit
when, an icy refection fogged my story window, Macy.
The escalator of my mind went to your top floors,
yet, preferred riding down to your lobby or holding
your presents on the Staten Island ferry looking
for cold peace--floating back to a forgotten apartment.

I visited you every third weekday before lunch, knowing
your top floors were roomy, lingerie at 6 in bed by 9.
I am nostalgic of that time, when shooting frames of your revolving door, 
my camera safe in my frosty hands, not long before snow fell on St Paul's 
that you weren't afraid Macy. Not then, you were shiny and old, but not afraid.

You posed for me in so many Christmas Eve postcards home.
You were so beautiful in red, ribbons laid out, smelling of Channel no. 5.
I loved you then before brown was the new black, and I miss your Santa Land,
with the little toy train, which flurried across your covered snow mountains.

Macy, I can't come visit now, please don't ask.
Macy, of course we had secrets before Victoria was born.  
Macy, I know my old century is gone, but isn't this young one tired already?
It's not the same to me, you changed stock from from "FD" to "M."
It's not the same for me, knowing that emptiness between you and Liberty.

I must unpack my suitcase now, all the airports are closed.
It's snowing again and you’re just a picture on
my foggy Zennith, there's no parade, just flickering 
residue from my television-- once purchased 
in your cellar, September 12, 1992.

I appreciate the comments and In this draft I am moving towards making the poem more about Macy the store, one short reference to the difference after 911 and one to a change in business practices.
I am also posting a second draft, where I will focus on a person, well, again thanks for your help, any more image ideas would be appreciated.

Past Love

I began to pack my suitcase for our visit when,
a refection appeared in my story window, Macy.
I took the escalator of my mind to your top floors,
yet rather had I ridden down to your lobby or held
you on the Staten Island ferry looking for cold peace.

I visited you every third weekday before lunch, knowing
your top floors were roomy, lingerie at 6 in bed by 9.
I am reminiscent of that day when I shot frames of your revolving door from my boxcar, 
my camera, safe in my hands, not long before snow fell on St Paul's.
You weren't afraid then, Macy. You were shiny and old, but not afraid.

You posed for me in so many Christmas Eve postcards home.
You were so beautiful in red, ribbons laid out, smelling of Channel no. 5.
I loved you then before brown was the new black, and I miss your Santa Lands
that little toy train, a flurry across your snow covered mountains.

Macy, I can't come for a visit now, please don't ask.
Macy, of course we had secrets before Victoria was born.  
Macy, I know my old century is gone, but this young one is tired.
It's not the same, you changed  your stock from  from "FD" to "M."
It's not the same, that emptiness between you and Liberty.

I must unpack my suitcase now, all the airports are closed.
You’re just a picture on, that foggy Zennith,
with no parade, just flickering residue form my television,
once purchased in your cellar, September 12, 1992.


 Now the person draft, probably filled with too many private moments or insiders, but it's for my wife.

Taking your name:


I began to pack for our visit when,
a refection appeared in my story window, Tami.
I took the stairs of my mind to the top floor,
yet rather had I ridden down to your unclaimed baggage or held
you on the goose side of the pond searching for warm peace.


I visited you every third weekend before lunch, knowing
your top floor was roomy, lingerie at 6 in bed by 9.
I am reminiscent of that day when I shot frames of you from my boxy-car,
my camera, safe in my frosty hands, not long before snow fell on St Jude.
You weren't afraid then, Tami. You were shiny and naive, but not afraid.


You posed for me in so many winters evening postcards.
You were so beautiful in red lipstick, ribbons laid out, smelling of Tommy Girl.
I loved you then as brown became the new black, and I held you in my pocket.


Tami, I want to visit you now, but please don't ask, as I can't go back.
Tami, of course we had secrets before this centuries children were born.
Tami, I know my century is gone, but the young ones are already tired.
I must unpack your suitcase now, the airports are closed.
Your just a picture in the case, a memory in the plastic wrap.


Tammie, please call me upstairs and we'll watch Disney on the couch,
remembering our first baby Teddy bear, cheap champagne,
and the apartment filled with leather roses,
scattered pedals smelling of sweet ash,
lilac air freshener, and you Tami.
How glad I am you changed your name to Tammie.