Le Mendicant

Photo: flicker

Le Mendicant
A Narrative Poem

I make my way slowly toward la Gare du Nord, pass la Rue Phillipe de Girard. I lumber along at a slow pace. The ache in my feet shoots up my legs. The night was cold last night and us seventy-something’s have poor circulation, especially when we sleep in alleys.

At the entry to la Boulangerie, I pause, take in a deep breath and dream. The smell of bread, just coming out of the oven, fills me with pain. A young woman, dressed in a tweed business suit, three-piece, and three-inch heels, exits. She turns abruptly and walks hurriedly away from me. The scent of the baguette lingers like an expensive perfume. Its rough texture and golden color remind me of better days. Today I haven’t a sou in the pocket of my tattered jacket.

When I reach the station, I take my seat on the rough concrete of the steps leading to departures. The chill penetrates, creeps up my spine. As I extend my callused hand, I know what they think, but they don’t know my story. It hurts to look into their eyes and see them avert their own in embarrassment as they rush by. A few drop a coin or two, not enough for a loaf.

Counting them at the end of an hour, I think I may have enough for a small, day-old roll and a cup of black coffee. I stand, stomp my feet in hopes of regaining some sensation, and straighten my old back a bit at a time. Grasping the railing, I climb back to street level and make my way back to the bakery.

Maybe someday, someone will stop to listen and offer me the bread of understanding.

Written in narrative poetry, from a first person perspective, this is a fictional collage from a few images that linger with me from the time I lived in Paris. The reality is true world-wide.

For dVerse Poetics. The prompt is Bread and the pub opens Tuesday 3:00 PM EST. Hope to see you there!

 

Thirteen Ways of Looking at Bread–Poetry Potluck

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Thirteen Ways of Looking at Bread

i.
taste buds awaken
to the aroma enveloping our neighborhood
mrs. curry is baking
this morning

ii.
staple of generations
cultures
peoples
“staff of life”
a common denominator
across civilizations

iii.
some people
are like bread
a hard outer crust
protecting
a soft, warm core

iv.
other people
like bread
get stale
if not attended to

v.
sometimes
dough is sweet
sometimes sour
like people

vi.
bread as sacrament
food for the soul
manna
communion
transforming the mundane
into divinity

vii.
bread as dough
show me the money
divine
become
mundane

viii.
some people are like
unleavened bread
a bit dense

ix.
other people
are like yeast
just a lot of hot air
and they know how
to get a rise
out of you

x.
the beauty of bread
is in its texture
and color
rough
smooth
scarred
seedy
black
brown
golden
ruddy
white
like people

xi.
bread is a vehicle
butter
jam
sandwiches

xii.
bread fills
our emptiness
(for a while, anyway)

xiii.
eventually
people learn
we do not live
by bread alone.

Submitted to Poetry Potluck:http://jinglepoetry.blogspot.com/ for which this week’s theme is Food, Drink and Indulgences.

This is a poetry sequence: a poetic device recently discussed in The Writer magazine (October, 2010) by poet Marilyn Taylor. She discusses Wallace Stevens poem: “Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird,” I couldn’t resist trying this form and hope some of you might enjoy playing with it as well. Other poets who have written poetic sequences include Edna St. Vincent Millay, Sharon Olds, Jane Kenyon, Ezra Pound, William Carols Williams and Walt Whitman.