Friday, August 29, 2008: On the Street.....White on White, Paris

She hovered in the doorway
her girlish white dress
transformed by the light
passing through it
revealing the garments
that were and were not
underneath

Thursday, August 28, 2008: On the Street...Gatsby Moment, Paris

You can judge the authenticity of a pearl
by its temperature, string, and texture,
The red-haired lady at the garage sale
told me as I pulled a strand of grays

from the sparkling pile of junk in a box.
Hold a pearl in your palm, and clutch it,
clam-like. It should first be cool to the touch
and then leach heat from your skin.

Now look for the knots in the string.
Each pearl should be individually secured
by the silk. In case it should break.
I saw each tiny knot, like a seed pearl

guarding the pearl’s entrance and exit.
Last is the texture. Does it feel smooth?
I rolled it around on a finger. It did.
Well, hold it to your tooth, and gently

Scrape it up and down. How does it feel?
If it’s real, it should be grainy.
And in my mouth it felt like sand, and made
a dull sound like the distant surf.

Wednesday, August 27, 2008: Elegance (458)

Stepping through the crowd of men,
I absorb their glances, their comments,

And watch the pigeons tucked in buildings
Biting their feathers, readjusting.

Tuesday, August 26, 2008: On the Street....Taxi Taxi, Stockholm

When we were children, our mother dressed us alike.
Interchangeable t-shirts, dresses, skirts.
At thirteen, one of us put up a fight
And borrowed our father’s red flannel shirt.

Our mother smiled, but her eyes looked hurt.

Monday, August 25, 2008: On the Street.....Stockholm Smile

Fall arrives suddenly, coaxing hands into pockets.
Blouses sprout sleeves that we bunch at the elbow,

Revealing our eager wrists to the damp air.