She imagines Paris, the Eiffel Tower,
drinking coffee in an outdoor cafe
while people watching, strolling through
lavender fields on a Sunday morning.
The outdoor flea market spreads itself open
like a pair of butterfly wings,
inviting the curious and creative
a place to inhabit if only for an hour;
remnants of the past to reinvent,
treasures for the present tense.
Perched upon a white-washed wooden table,
vintage bottles of light to dark hues
of violet, mysterious yet translucent.
Her starling voice barters for their beauty
and for the first time she is not afraid
to sing in front of strangers.
Paris, one day, mon ami,
but for today the bottles will do,
carrying dreams of travel and escape
deep inside her shy violet heart.
* Published in The Blue Hour, 2013
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