I remember you at Rue Faubourg Saint-Denis,
You held my hand on the way to the metro station,
I had a wheeled suitcase in the other, so it must have been a little awkward,
But I remember only that it was dark and I kissed you,
And went to London
It was snowing in London, and I was eating my dinner in a coat.
You told me it was snowing in Paris too,
And I looked up at the flakes falling from the sky.
My fingers were red and shaking.
I remember throwing my mattress out on to the pavement,
It was hot and sunny and I was wearing an orange shirt.
I laid down on the mattress and felt invincible.
I remember your wedding.
About the Author
Marie Lefeuvre studies French Literature at Paris VI – La Sorbonne. She enjoys writing poems about affairs of the heart in English, as they require her to think about language in a different way.