i
dream that i am back in france the
dusty air clogging my throat like
joy catching in the windpipe of a
hopeful moment; i
think back to those moments on
porches—so far from where i
came to love the idea of
a wooden rocking chair—of
french cafes and restaurants, drinking
in cigarette smoke and exhaling
pleasure; i
imagine myself sipping
a glass of wine that im sure will
induce heartburn but i do it
anyway, because our vices
taste better when we dont have
to hide them; i
know my parents would feel
ashamed that im smoking so i
bury my ashes in the dirt and i
take what little ease i can muster
that they are not home; i
wait for their arrival by painting
more nicotine fantasies
between my lips; i
gaze down at my used cigarette
butts and stuff them back, safely,
into the menthol packet—the
only way we get through the
aching heat of the day is by
imagining we are in a
movie, because we know that
Published in You Are Nostalgic – July 17, 2023
Available from Poet’s Choice: https://www.poetschoice.in
