C’est psychologique

14 Feb

Sunday, monday.  7, 8 février.


Porous white buildings looming in crepescular light.  Lit windows in neoclassic shadows.

Stairs to the gare, to the cathedral, staircased hills, angular water, old port.

Pigeon split open on the sidewalk, flushed wet and pink.

Stained asphalt, spices, kebabs, industrial chocolate biscuits “à l’artisan,”

une noisette et un p’tit crème.

Sketchbook, children in a crooked parade at the fountain.

La Méditerranée, green and clear, dark beards of algae, cupped by white rocks and ochre hills.

In the city longing for the country but in summertime,

April sea in winter,

running to catch the bus, sun fever and déjà vu—

“ça existe pas, c’est psychologique”—

hunger pangs, lingerie ads.

Running for the métro, running for the gare,

right ticket, wrong train, long detour home

All dried out and water everywhere.


2 Responses to “C’est psychologique”

  1. Kelley Smith February 15, 2010 at 4:53 pm #

    Wow, I feel like I’m in France, right there with you…

    gruesome…bird split open on the pavement
    delightful…crooked parade of children
    what else can you do but laugh?…wrong train
    hunger pangs

  2. Jules Greer March 25, 2011 at 6:47 pm #

    I love your post of my precious Marseille – a poem that grabbed all of my senses and transported me in an instant.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: