Les petits riens

Je ne suis pas dragueuse

mais de tête sérieuse

pourtant quoique je lise

il n’y a que des bêtises

qui me viennent à l’esprit

comme le petit rien que tu m’as dit

Les crises globales me font de la peine

la violence et la souffrance

ni s’arrêtent ni se freinent

Pourtant quand je danse

la musique m’embrasse

je regagne la paix, la joie de l’enfance

Et les petits riens que tu me dis

chassant la douleur

soulagent mon cœur

quand le jour me fait face

et la grâce laisse ses traces

photo: silhouette at sunset, Promenade des Anglais, Nice

So There, Baudelaire

I’ve been told I have a beautiful spleen

by a doctor in a white coat

who was supposed

to know about such things

When he told me I was strapped

to a gurney in a small

windowless room planning

my own funeral aloud

to shiny and flat objects poking and placid

tilted this way and that listening

When he told me he smiled—

his cheeks grew round and rosy

like a schoolboy on a sled

hissing through snow

down the biggest hill one more time

after being called home for supper

When he told me it seemed as if

it made up for everything else

he would say and I felt so happy

I skipped out the door into the sun

to shout to the stars hidden by the light

                                              “I have a beautiful spleen!”

       

Haiku

                         

                                                 

                                                                           

golden pears mottle

rain gleams on vacant streets

crisp! the autumn wind