![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
aquabeanJet Lag
by Eve Robillard
He flies over the ocean to see his girl, his Sorbonne
girl, his ginger-skinned girl waiting for him in the City
of Light. Everywhere river and almost-spring gardens,
everywhere bridges and rainy statues. Streets going
nowhere, streets going on all night. I love you my mona
my lisa, my cabbage, my gargoyle, Degas' little dancer
in dawn's ragged gown. But on the third day she
picks up her books, tells him she needs to study:
she adores this town, she's not coming home in May, she's
going to stay all summer. Lowers her morning-calm eyes.
He's all right in the cab, all right on the plane droning
him home in only three hours American-key in his lock now
his tick-tock apartment, shiver his shadow, his need
to sleep. Then with a tiredness washing over and
over him and through his raveling bones
he begins to know.
by Eve Robillard
He flies over the ocean to see his girl, his Sorbonne
girl, his ginger-skinned girl waiting for him in the City
of Light. Everywhere river and almost-spring gardens,
everywhere bridges and rainy statues. Streets going
nowhere, streets going on all night. I love you my mona
my lisa, my cabbage, my gargoyle, Degas' little dancer
in dawn's ragged gown. But on the third day she
picks up her books, tells him she needs to study:
she adores this town, she's not coming home in May, she's
going to stay all summer. Lowers her morning-calm eyes.
He's all right in the cab, all right on the plane droning
him home in only three hours American-key in his lock now
his tick-tock apartment, shiver his shadow, his need
to sleep. Then with a tiredness washing over and
over him and through his raveling bones
he begins to know.