Bois de Boulogne

6.22.06

The concrete edged pond ripples

buffeting little wooden yachts.

Their flapping handkerchief sails

billow out like pinafores

when pricked by a breeze.

Children kneel at the water's edge

and prod their tiny ships

urging keels to slice forward,

ready about hard - a - lee.

One has built hers from scratch;

today is her maiden voyage.

She does not want to let it go

but catches sun in her hair

and knows it's time.

Lowering her blue hulled heart

into the murky brew

her breath catches.

The boat tips, then rights itself

and bobs with confidence,

this way and that.

Secretly, she wishes it would sink,

so she could grab it back and

hold it close, repair the fault.

But no, its voyage has even now begun

and she must let it go.

Others around her jostle

for position

as their barques weave across the

sun-lit soup on a Paris spring day.

She, however, watches in silence

as hers cuts cleanly away,

carving a memorial as it

leaves behind only a tiny wake.