Surely there was a day

when she stood in her kitchen eating scrambled eggs

like I did this morning.


Surely she looked at her children wondering

something about the small perfection of their hands

as they ate the breakfast she’d made


Sight fails through a fog of eighty years

A short boat trip

A language lost

Even the most memorable details (a laugh, a threadbare story)

get blurred


The family tree pruned

to the barest of details: a name

Someone’s spidery script in a dusty bible.

there’s no seeing the branches for the leaves.


But there are always the children

looking into mirrors in wonder

at their dark eyes

Staring at their large, flawed hands.

Standing in their kitchens,

surely eating scrambled eggs.


French Girl Style

Want to get French girl style?

Is the question posed by a single, soft-edged rectangle on Pinterest-

the floating dream-world.

In the image a woman, the embodiment of efficiency and elegance, steps into an (ostensibly) Parisian (incontrovertibly) European boulevard in deadly flats and a denim mini-skirt.  The skirt is just the right length to display her lean and untanned thighs.

She is polite enough to not have hips.

She wears a (probably) cashmere sweater and a camel wool blazer.  She never has to tug her sweater down or adjust her skirt.  They fit her like gloves.  It might be cold in “Paris,” but we cannot know.  Her bare legs and sweater/caramel colored jacket tell us (from our sofa scrolling vantage point) that she alone decides if she is or is not cold.

Like all Parisians, she reserves her smile for a truly important moment, her appreciation is a rare and priceless bloom.  

Her disdain is proven in the accessories she chooses….shoes and sunglasses, minimal jewelry. Little armor is necessary when one owns the ground one walks on.  

She is sexy but doesn’t want to be touched.  She has never seen a suburb up close.  She does not know what a Pinterest board is.  Qu’est-ce qu c’est?  We save her for later and continue scrolling.



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