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Fais de beaux rêves

Sweet dreams, beneath your eternal green,
I whisper, when really words need to be enunciated
but I am bereft and the walnut tree only trembles
its fruits long gone, like the time we bought
avocados and aubergines from the stall holder
and took them home on a boiling métro,
you said to mush the avocados but I won
we sliced them and a pot luck ratatouille,
we served for four on a balcony with no room
to swing a wine bottle and then we sang.

Today, I heated up the left overs from a feast,
remembering the yeast from a friendship cake
you never baked, we left it bubbling on a sill,
and I cried with the faux tiger skin, you know
I always hated animal prints, but your prints
I would love to feel now, fais de beaux rêves
beneath your green carpets that stretch
on and on and onwards - this bonne année

Poetry by Elle