I’ve outgrown the person I use to be,
clutched by pearls of propriety, society,
tucked into a pocket of politeness,
venturing only when partnered, or compelled
to accompany some other. What if I could discover
the coordinates to Diagon Alley, or Alice’s Wonder-
land? What if I stumbled into ruby slippers,
or could magically wand my way into another life,
or time? Here is the me you might see…
a wayfarer, wandering Parisian streets,
feet clad in comfortable shoes. Lost
along avenues lined with limestone
facades. Lazily passing windows
skirted in lace, flowerboxes,
chock-a-block
with red geranium clusters.
.
Just ahead, my golden retriever,
alive again—
stepping lightly over cobblestones,
she stops briefly,
turns back to see me
close behind.
In the air, red wine, camembert
— baguette in my basket
warm and fresh.






