P A R (T) I (N G) S

by Amy Mascena

I am leaving for Paris tomorrow my love
and everybody is telling me that is gonna be cold
and humid
and unpleasant
this time of year
they say...

but i long for the long lines of bare trees
at the montmartre cemetery
the valleys of tombstones
the coats
the rain
the skinny loneliness that forms a thin cement like layer in your misty head
your tiny feet behind my eyes
each time I would close them

the sound of them in the wet sand
like a ghost
a smoke track
a half listened goodbye

all of them will know about
the quivers,
that last day on the town feeling
by the dusty loving bones of jeanne and her neverborn son
and that stone wall 
of the dying
and the moss and the bullets
and the cowards,
a hotel room is never home unless...
yes,
all of them know

you
nurturing life
me
looking for it on the road
like a waltz without the music
a horse without the straps,
San Bernardino in the light evening sun,
there are red velvet love affairs  
under the cobblestones
and it breaks your nails to look after them