A Parisian Dream

I was in Paris last night.  It was vivid.  I could smell the pastries, feel the cobblestones.  I remember taking an arm, leading it towards the best view.  Sharing my city with my grandmother.  I remember the excitement.  She was with me.  Here.  Every moment, she was distracted.  By the cars passing, by the birds.  Every instant a moment for a photo shoot.  I wanted to surprise her, with the view of views.  Place de la Concorde.  The Louvre, Champs Élysées, the Eiffel Tower, the Seine.  All at once.  Turning and turning to take it all in.  

I hate waking from Paris
Where I am with Mama
walking along the streets,
coming out of the metro
Keep your eyes closed.
Are they closed?

It’s her first time here,
camera slung across her shoulder
with her handbag in tow.
We’ve already stopped at a boulangerie,
scarfed two tartes aux poires,
ordered in the French that has
become rusty.

Now we’re at Concorde,
where the Grande Roue
of the marché de noël is
in my memories
of last year,
where I was lost,
waiting for friends
twice before.

We face the Tuileries
the little arc’s horses

face away from us.
There is the pond

and the plane trees,
with the pigeons and seagulls,
who swarm if given pain,

The arms of the Louvre

embrace us.

She opens her eyes.