Words Make Music

Les mots font la musique

The notebook on the cafe table
Cheek by jowl with the coffee,
The tranche of baguette smeared with butter and blackberry jam
Jostling against the tiny carafe of cream
The napkin dotted with coffee stains, blotches of stickiness
A corner wet from sopping up the spilled rivulet of water from the overturned glass.

I fumble in my crossbody bag desperate for a hand wipe
Tearing the stubborn casing with my teeth to free the rectangle within.

My hand reaches out for the pen resting on the edge of my plate
Then for the gaily printed journal pages
The cover a scene from a Venetian fondemente,
a small stone bridge arching over a tiny canal
Gondolas brushing the moss-covered sides of impossibly old houses,
crumbly bricksimpregnated with salt
As lovers lean into each other on the cushions while the gondolier prattles.

But I am not in Venice or even in Italy
This cafe is in the Marais, in Paris, on a sunny, brunchy dimanche.

The pages flip by while I search for the list
Words that bewitch, better in French
Tender endearments that I long to hear, that I say to Caro, who I miss so much.
Chaton, chat, chouette, trésor, petit chou, mon coeur, petite lionne, ma chère
Kitten, cat, owlet, treasure, little cabbage, my heart, little lioness, my dear
Words I will never hear from a lover’s lips.

Then I eat my baguette, drink my coffee, and write
Before transmuting not to a passante as Proust would say but to my flâneuse self.

Caro (le chaton) shows off

If you like my writing, check out my books. Available here in ebook, paper, and audio.

⭐️ mature couples
⭐️ smart, resilient heroines
⭐️ devastatingly adorable heroes
⭐️ a contemporary urban vibe
⭐️ second chances
⭐️ slow burn fade to black