Soul-aching, she felt great stones
Heave from fields dry & abandoned
Taking her back to times before the deluge
Before the lost seasons & broken crossings
Scrambled months of pain now meeting joy
And giving her this gift…Bébé…
Turning worlds upside down.
She still called her Bébé
Celeste, precocious at age five
Insisted, Je suis une fille grande
Too many questions, too old & sage
Bébé had asked again about her father
Why he wasn’t there for her ‘plus grande fète’
Demanding to know who he was & where
And why, as if it was time she knew
As if she knew he needed to know
Now. That she existed. Was his.
As if she knew he had never known
As if strange destiny spurred her on
And on and on. As if. As if. As if.
Cher Bébé. Her Bébé
Blurting out inopportune questions
At inopportune times, in front of people
People who had heard a very simple story
Accepted it. Not so for Bébé, who must know tous.
Springtime, strolling past the café
On St. Germain, slurping crème glacée
Claire thought she saw him. Waiting.
A freight train rumbling, shook her
Life rushing her onto a trembling platform
Blinking in bright sunlight, she stared
As Celeste pointed, saying bonjour
To a stranger. No. David.
Ici. In living color. Colliding.
From the blue. Exploding life.
With silent questions.
© S. Michaels
Seven Love Stories – David & Claire