Adveniat
it’s 2 am in paris
and we have locked arms
as we walk-run
down the rue des rosiers.
the soles of our shoes
smack against
the eight hundred
year old cobblestone.
we hurry
to an unknown destination,
desperately searching
for a room
for the night.
on the dim street corners
desperate men leer,
as they do,
while we huddle into ourselves
in an equally desperate defense.
we are fourteen
and lost,
in every sense.
we walk for most of the night.
i begin to feel as if
i’d always been walking,
as if i would never come
to a stop.
when finally we knock
upon a paint-peeled door
and are offered a room,
we collapse
onto the bed
in a heap of exhaustion
and exhilaration.
we open the dormer window,
allow the traffic and
the ceaseless midnight chatter
of the eighth arrondissement
to wash over us like
dandelion seeds on the wind,
and you begin to sing.
my voice raises to join yours
and we lie in bed,
singing ourselves to sleep,
utterly unaware
of the time and beauty
and youth
we’ve been gifted.
Copyright © Nora Jane | Year Posted 2021
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