Tuesday, October 26, 2010

For Those Boycotting my 'fake-happy blog'

Who spends their time thinking about Christmas gifts in October?
Bussing through the most industrial sector of a Mediterranean paradise
Trying the distinguish between palm fronds, and daydreaming of pine boughs
Dulling the shock of a Ford by counting Cimiez, Renaults, Peugeots passing by
Who spends their time thinking about Christmas gifts in October? 
Expanses of azure blue ocean, gazing out of grey eyes that match known waters
Singing along with the radio, no one realizing you understand the lyrics
Salmon apartments, terra-cotta tiles that won’t be disguised in a blanket after fall
Who spends their time thinking about Christmas gifts in October?
Weekend with alto player and opera singer in Nice, two ago with Italian ballerina
Headed for Antibes, a stop-over before meeting a friends family in Marseille
Kids ride over coveted grasses of parks at 5 PM in 19 degrees
Who spends their time thinking about Christmas gifts in October? 
Pharmacie, Lingerie, Boulangerie wall an inconspicuous bus station
Every other foot person smoking, two ladies complain in german
Designer handbags, Olive trees, 
planes flying home without me aboard
But I’ve passed the airport, long ago, passed the Hippodrome, passed my time at home
Behind me the mountain village of my host family’s home, place Massena, my lycée
I’m here, on a bus, in Province, trapped within the parameters of my heart strings
An ocean is a long way to stretch, even when others yearn for closeness as well
Who loves their host brother for the boy he still is and the man he’ll be?
Who vainly searches names of European cuisine who fade from tongue and memory? 
Who pays no mind to the advances of french musicians, future politicians, romances?
Who travels at ease at nightfall alone, but won’t sleep until they hear goodnight?
What happened to all the faces and spaces that seem familiar?
When will my head stop spinning, be calm at a resting pace? 
Where am I heading after I get to the end of this road?
Why will the crunch of snow below my feet fall on foreign ground this Christmas?
How did I get here? 

2 comments:

  1. This might be an awkward time to mention I have your christmas gift...
    ^.^ <3
    <3 Julie (not sure where the Susan came from...)

    ReplyDelete
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