L'arôme de les arbres de Arromanches

L, did you know? This is the first time I’ve dreamt

of the dead. You came back to tell me—and trust me

I’m not sure why—how you were never really dead. 

It’s Paris and my cornea’s cut, so I’m a real bitch 

to the eye doctor. Anyway, I should shut up, 

I don’t really know anything. I call you

clever, you smile. It’s not the genuine kind. 

Pomplemousse, it sounds fun in the mouth. 

Wind blows, salt blows, my arm gets covered in dirt.

I inch deeper, run over the rocks. Aquamarine carousel. 

Did the water feel good when you went?

Wasps invade my room. One purple 

cat sits in the cabinet, the other is slowly unsticking 

itself from the wire. The Ghost of Christmas Past yells

to me from the window. I don’t even celebrate Christmas! 

Is that what makes me a good Muslim? I can’t stop 

laughing until the final sound of the laugh feels 

like when we said “That’s an important

conversation we need to have!” to avoid conversation. 

Anyways, bubbles burst from my back, I float 

from the bed and finally grab the pill 

off the floor, pay the bill, vinegar the mold. 

Did you know leaves make noise when they fall from trees?