Paris Vagrant

I was a Paris rat once,
living behind shutters,
keeping flowers in cracked basins,
making love under
patchwork quilts
and tending salads
in window boxes.

I was a Paris cat once,
spending time in dingy basements
where you thought your eyes were hazy
and smoke clung to fibres
and as you escaped up
fire escapes and threw
petals in the air
chasing imaginary peguins
(no they don't have them in Paris)
just men who stand on corners
promising you the world
if you are young and vaguely pretty,
sponsors who will book you
a world tour
but really mean
a cheap apartment on the wrong side.

I was a Paris animal once
walking with my hand tucked in yours
the winds along the Seine are cruel
and you tenderly kissed my nose,
noses are important, when they are cold
in the days when I was
a Paris vagrant drawing pictures on napkins.




Poetry by Elle The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 738 times
Written on 2015-02-01 at 20:24

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Ah, la vie de bohème. There is a certain freedom that is often lost when we leave those days behind us. Life was filled with delicious possibilities.
2015-02-04


jim The PoetBay support member heart!
I wonder if you had a sense, at the time, of how miraculous those days were. I remember thinking, of my wandering days: I'll be back. I never went back.

I love your cat/rat personality here. So wrong side of the track, and what a great place to be. For a while.

Terrific.
2015-02-03



That sounds so wonderful, Elle. I want to do that! It's a beautiful, wistful, vibrant poem that makes us dream. Thanks for sharing. :-)
2015-02-02