Paris

I carry these images in my head like a melon
because my photos are bad
and if you put 
your head
just here
Right
here
on my head
and hold your eye 
like
This

You can see it too 
because
I carried it for you
Look along my arm

I wonder what memories you saw when you were there 
Was it Paris rooftops
Of predetermined height 
Gray with slate and zinc 
The creamy walls
Balconies  black with spiral lace
Taller wider rooms on the floor for nobles
My guide explained
Shorter as they rose
Less grand
Those on top for servants, short 
Unprepossessing
Bath-free 
Or do you hold the memory of streets and how they
Merge one to one
Triangulating ground
The broad streets and tiny offways
Those behind, between, squeezed 
Or the grand long palaces that make landmarks still
The mighty Musee 
The Gallery, those that line the Seine
Napoleon 1, 11 and 111
And of course Louis the Sun King
Their marks and those like them
who lead,  made bridges and conquered
Showing grandeur
Pride and privilege 
To make it what it is forever.
A man named Eiffel and how 
they voted to leave his tower standing
Rust-proofed its rivets for protection
Painted it over and over 
and stung it with lights for grandeur
Because it’s theirs now.
Street art and monuments with gold 
gleaming 
Heads and birds and horses each significant 
Proud, remembered, held in the heart
And every car heartless
Intrepids on motorbikes through painted pedestrian walks
I once saw a man stop
Scoop into U-turn and flee the other way
Twisting through rush 
horns peeping

In Paris spring they smile
Catching the rays 
striding in shirt sleeves
the trees well green 
New leaf is new, it’s yellow green 
Some brownpurple too
Sycamore trees box-clipped
in the green green grass
and a patch of tulips and bright things
No wonder they paint and never talk.

It’s the light in Montmartre’s steep climbs
An overview from the highest point
Cathedrals observe the observant
And endless line-ups of cameras, phones 
and those who centre themselves alone.

Food, wine, the treasures of caring
Of taking the long way
A place for sumptuous tastes
I roll the word in my mouth too
Loving it for you.
Did you see the eyes we caused
To harden and endure our presence, though.
The chef who had to teach chicken to fifteen 
In a group, three times over for forty five minutes each
His eyes were dying
He did it all the same and rolled his Rrrrs and
mangled English but came back a long way to show me 
where to ditch my plastic apron
Because better to Show eet than Explain eet Madame
He dipped his bullet head and smiled for the first time when we left.
Pastries at Copain I forgot to eat from jetlag, 
Honest confusion. I carried them all day.
The sommelier had empty eyes too
Clement with the blue blue eyes
At Cave du Louvre and I feel for him
but learned about the underground passageways 
merchants used for the palace and how they were blocked for the subways
But our cave is still here and always carried wine.
Pride lives in France, the passion is real.
We even made perfume at Frogenard and saw that pride too
We made our own
From top notes, middle notes and base notes
From lemon blossoms
Which sang their song
Even as we had to find a window with air
her feelings were not hurt, she was used to that.

And did you see that every guard was a large Black man
Very large men with faces from the magazine we don’t see here every day, women too
At the museum they sit on small seats dozing
Eyelids on toothpicks
We stay behind the laser line in case it beeps
And they must stand
At Bourse de Commerce Museum the Pinault collection
with my brother was outstanding.
Did you meet with friends?
Frank Gehry’s ship, reminds me of our AGO Toronto 
It has the ribs inside
at Fondation Louis Vuitton
So cool, it says in neon 
‘Do remember they can’t cancel the spring’.