by Fabrice Poussin
The days on the beach resonate still
and I am transported to the fiery sands
of a riviera made of near accurate imitations
waiting for the sun to etch a new hue upon my skin.
Still a child I threw this awkward shell into the salt
thick waters that took me away to the horizon
enveloped me in a tenderness I did not know
I thought I might awaken in another land.
School years come back to haunt my young bones
with the vengeance of so many refusals
when I sat in the front row and dreamed
of illicit embraces in emptied hallways filled with ice.
I knew soon it would be a suit I would boast
fashioning shapes yet strange to my breaths
and gazes would fall upon me as if to claim
every one of those moments I had thought mine.
As all do I fell for the charm of so many a knight
riding high on a roaring stallion
to sweep me up and take me to his realm
and serve as I had read little girls must.
Often facing the tall mirror in my lonely room
I wondered what had happened to this puerile body
when I thought I could be equal in passion
give as I might receive and forget my assigned role.
It is too late now as I gather the memories
images of many ages in sepia tones
wrinkles in time as they may be on the skin
feminine then now forgotten.
About the Author:
Fabrice Poussin is a professor of French and World Literature. His work in poetry and photography has appeared in Kestrel, Symposium, The Chimes, and hundreds of other publications worldwide. Most recently, his collections In Absentia, and If I Had a Gun, Half Past Life were published in 2021, 2022, and 2023 by Silver Bow Publishing.