If I were to still be in Marseille

If I were to still be in Marseille walking with Trang, in a late afternoon against the rush of the sun, I would stir the wind with a droplet of words here and there. I would lean on the balcony, looking out to the dazzling scenery.

That afternoon we walked along the boulevard, and I picked up a curiosa from a street book vender – ca, c’est pour mon petit ami. He gave me a treacherous wink and put the 2 euros I gave him to his pocket. “If you don’t mind, come back again next Saturday, we will have more book from my bookstore around the corner. It’s really just around that corner, to the left, and up the hill.” I politely apologized. I lived in the United States. He let out a gasp of disappointment, the old man, and said goodbye to us. The curiosa now rests on a shelf far from me but so close to Antoine.

I sat on my bed gazing out of the window. Another winter storm in the middle of March. And I thought spring has come soon enough. Clearly it hasn’t. Outside the juggernaut of snowflakes is pushing through the lazy cityscape. Not a shadow on the street.

Maybe if we all could, we would choose to walk the street of Marseille against the rush of the sun.

Maybe if we all could, we would choose to walk the street of Marseille against the rush of the sun.