Fall Winter 19

Rue de Paradis

Today feels like a Sunday. 

I went out yesterday. Not late, but I put my heart into it.

A bit of madness, too. 

Like an ever recurring dream, 

As if I had already experienced this scene.

I am drawn to the Paris light in autumn. 

It pierces the curtains,

caresses my eyelids.

The light brings softer days

Today feels like a Sunday. 

I went out yesterday.

Not late, but I put my heart into it.

A bit of madness, too. 

I slept in my clothes. 

Not entirely, but this morning, 

I was still wearing my shoes. 

A tour of the premises, a coffee, a long break 

and perhaps everything will come back to me. 


Nothing. Still nothing. Not him, not the memories. 

I sense his presence. 

I search for it.

My hands skim across the walls in search of clues.

I don’t find any. 

So I give him some. 

Vowels in an envelope. 

Scratches on a canvas.

An anchor on the rug.  

And footprints on the floor. 

I slowly dress. 

You never know. 

I start to feel bored. 

At least I do it with style. 

My grandmother used to tell me I was the cat’s meow. 

I’m not sure what she meant.

It's good to have time. 

It's rare.

But suddenly I’m over it. 

I look at myself one last time. 

"Je suis plutôt belle".

A key, a click of my heel, and I’m out. 

The air is still warm. 

It is the Indian summer in the Parisian fall. 

I am mixing Parisian references with New York memories. 

I cross the street and wander gently from dream to daydream.

Every day should start like this.

The flutter of a lash, 

a familiar dream,

an escape forward.