nothing survived

in the summer of 86 i discovered french everything
i had a young teacher who happened into my net
and cheap apartment off rue saint-denis
we studied kissing
love poetry in made up languages
my french was nonexistent
her english was from elementary school
basically a lot of Beatles lyrics
i could sing her anything from john and paul
and she would join in
we spent a lot of time waiting for the shower
to reveal hot water
often there was none
we would shiver together under the spray
washing our private parts back to decency
she showed me some things about paris
the underground
cooking on a budget
and raw unpredictable sex
i guess americans made up our inhibitions
she had none
we flew under the radar of god and the saints
surrounded by the bustle and pomp of sex on sale
she didn’t charge me
i didn’t ask about her work
and in the mornings after she left
i’d sip on bad coffee for most of the morning
imagining myself a poet as well
nothing survived
of my poems or her memory
but this photo
taken about two hours after we’d met
*je me rafraîchirai*

4-14-24

<< back to > wh@t? index |