Wednesday, April 14, 2010

Memory of Paris

I have crisp, happy memories
Of strolls in the streets of Paris
All six of us
Bound and scattered
Hand in hand
Sometimes I ran ahead
Momentary freedom
And turned back
Unsure of what I felt


We walked
To our favorite restaurant
It must have been Asian
Because they served us
Chips made of air
And seafood
That magically melted
In my mouth

I always wanted more

I have no recollection
Of anything else besides
The air
And the happiness
Of Being
A part.

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