Tag Archives: Paris

Ode to Air France


On the 12 hour flight
from Paris to Tokyo
Air France serves ice cream
in the middle of the night.

A champagne apéritif,
brie with dinner
and rosemary-flavored crackers
whenever you want them.

In the middle of boarding
an attendant with a stylish chignon
brought me water
after a cross-airport run
left me wilted.
she found
an extra pillow
cheerfully red
to make my flight
more comfortable.

Air France is
the closest I get
to first class
while seated
in economy.

Three hours in Paris


Charles de Gaulle
is still a mess.

Where the hell is
Terminal 2F?
I’ve been travelling for
18 hours and I’m quite sure
they’ve hidden it to mess with
the travellers from Japan.

I follow a young mother
and her toddler,
a black haired girl
in grey leggings
and pink runners
who explores every corner
of the airport.
Run. Fall down. Repeat.
Guards and agents
laugh out loud,
pick her up
and send her off
in the right direction.

By five o’clock
we’ve found F30,
gate at the end
of the universe.
The man at the cafe
with the red and white
Illy sign yells, “Non!
Come back at five thirty.”

It’s cold.
I pull out a sweater.
A Girl Guide, always prepared.

The sun begins to rise
all pinks and purples.
A Monet morning.

There’s a Sky Priority Lounge
but everyone uses it.
Liberty, equality, fraternity.

When I return
for my cafe au lait
the woman who joins the line
after me is in a terrible
hurry. She fidgets. Stands
beside me, then ahead.
The couple in front of us
stares but I decide
not to care. The sun
has exploded golden
in the east and fills
the glass terminal
with goodness.

Forgiveness at five forty a.m.

I tip the barista,
drink my coffee standing up
and try not to think too much
about how close I am
to Paris,
City of my heart.
The Relais Bosquet
in the 7th
and the yellow roses
in the foyer.
Roast chicken.
There’s a longer list
but these are the things
I long for this morning.

I message the folks
in Geography of Now,
challenge them
to leave more
out of their poems.

More space
for the reader
to figure things out.

Like Paris this morning.
More vivid
because of its absence.

Tough for me
I have always been

On the plane to Geneva
I dunk a croissant
into my cup of hot chocolate.

Ordinary Lovely



{Rue Cler, Paris}

For me
there is nothing
than regular people
living their lives.

This ordinary loveliness
is my favourite thing
to photograph.

Lately, I’ve noticed
and toxic squabbling
on my Facebook feed.
Mean, disheartening comments
appear below the posts
of friends.

I help people
with their problems
for a living
so I know
the world is

But I wonder
if we don’t
make it harder
by dwelling
in darkness.

I don’t know.
I don’t have the solutions.

For me,
for now,
I’m going to keep posting
ordinary loveliness
and talking to students
at a time.

Into the Instagram Wild


In Paris
our days were our own.

We walked the city.

My new walking shoes
made me feel
like a superhero.

by neighbourhood,
we made the city ours.
The 6th and the Latin Quarter.
The Tuileries Garden.
A walk from Rue Cler in the 7th
all the way to Notre Dame.

We stopped often
to eat,
take photos
and came home
with our iPhones
filled with

We released the photos,
perfect little worlds,
or seven
at a time,
released them
into the Instragram wild.

Apparently that’s not how it’s done
I’m told by people
half my age.
I need to be more strategic.
Release them
one at a time.
You know,
in order to get
the most

But the loveliest thing
about not being cool
being cool.

Fewer rules
more {Instagram} joy.