Anais Vionet Poet Free verse

Notes About The Poem

after week

I awoke hoping for a golden day
I’m easily dazzled, I suppose.

But it’s cool and overcast in Paris.
They’re limiting the sunshine today
because of global warming.

How can global warming bring a thousand harms
if it can’t even cook a turkey?

I love this after-Christmas week.
The crowded activities and Hallmark card events are over
but we still have the sunny moods and infectious vibes
(and no classwork).

My parents flew in last night.
It’s a holiday miracle.
What’s better than running into your mother’s arms
for a, “Mom-MEEEEEEEEEE!” hug.

Joy is a land unto itself, dizzying and potent.

“Your hair,” she said, almost immediately
- confiscating my adulthood with ease.

I‘ve missed her interrogations
and itchy, absorbing interest.

Re-entering childhood can be emotionally wearing
I needed a skin of those shuttle tiles for reentry.

The funny thing is, I get to watch my momma smother
under Grandmère’s beam-fixture gaze.

It seems awfully bright in here - far below the overcast.
.
.
Songs for this:
Wouldn't It Be Nice by The Sirens
Conexão by Amber Mark

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Joseph P. DiMino December 30, 2025 at 10:26 AM Wonderful poetry. Really quite brilliant! Keep on shinning -- "But it’s cool and overcast in Paris. They’re limiting the sunshine today because of global warming." -- Love that:)

Vincine Fallica December 27, 2025 at 8:20 PM Slate? Steel? Smoke? It was always a treat to see what wonderous shade of gray the Parisian sky would be when I woke. / I had vicarious pleasure reading your reentry into your mother’s sphere of influence (“Your hair,” she said, almost immediately - confiscating my adulthood with ease.) and of your witnessing her reentry to her own mother’s sphere. . <3