(A poem from Paris)
All I want is a little window to watch the world go by.
Is it so much to ask,
for just a little window
with a flower box of pink peonies, always blooming,
and a clear view for miles
in every direction?
All I want is a little window that looks out
on city streets (Paris, ideally, or somewhere else where people wear great shoes)
and gravel roads winding lazily toward nowhere,
and fields of lavender, and a turquoise ocean,
where the sun rises and sets over the same horizon.
From my window I’ll see
everywhere I’ve ever been and
anywhere I might be going,
memories and possibilities illuminated
like streaks of green light trailing behind fireflies.
I’ll sit on my windowsill and eat “what ifs” like chocolate truffles,
letting them melt on my tongue,
watching the world go by.
Days stretch into miles stretch into
years stretch into knowing that I don’t know anything at all.
All I want is a little window.
All I want is the whole world.
