Poetry Issue 2

   Issue#2: Jan - Mar 2003

Marjorie Evasco


Parisian Life

After Juan Luna, 1892


        Every beginning
        Is only a sequel, after all…

        -W. Szymborska


      What would they make of me
      In his painting, alone at dusk,
      Waiting in a café in Paris?

      Perhaps one of them will peer close enough
      To catch the hint of absinthe in my breath,
      And I could whisper: There is a street

      Going south to an abandoned train station
      Where many stories have left their remorse
      On the wrought-iron benches. I could say

      There is a river on whose banks you could
      Walk ten miles to a village where the mime
      And the fool danced a story like a duel:

      There once was a woman and a man
      Struck dumb by roses, pursued by lightning.
      They were brought to their knees by bees.

      The woman sits here, alone in a café
      At dusk in Paris, not in hope nor in regret,
      But in time. As if every moment now

      Could be the beginning of a different story.