When I arrived they told me others had lost their luggage. Some sat on broken airplanes, and others slept on trains. I watched an old man buy his wife a cappuccino, holding it for her in between sips so she could flip the pages of the newspaper she was reading. The sun rising through the Heaven high windows of the Dutch airport, stretching its arms around families from Hong Kong and Hamburg and Houston and Holland all at once. The Italian mother singing to her baby and waltzing behind these windows like she was in the spotlight of her own state. And across from me, the young french man wrapped in his scarf and thick book, occasionally glancing up at me to confirm that I was doing the same. My travel toll was 72$. Or maybe I should say 36$. In other words, I lost a single, fresh-out-of-the-box, never worn shoe. This was not the first time this happened to me.

Cinderella en Provence - I wonder if a foreign prince will find my shoe and bring it back to me. Questioning if I should call the airport and explain to them in my broken french what I was looking for. But at that moment I had realized that everything I had ever lost that I truly needed, came back to me. Pieces of my mind, or my peace of mind, being the most obvious example. I generally don’t lose things, but when I do, it usually means that I didn’t need it. It’s just a shoe, I think to myself. But it’s also a reminder that something will come to me instead. A trade, a balancing of the system.

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30 Janvier 2018

The ringtone jingle of Cezanne’s middle school vibrates

my entire being awake
(and the searing sun)
That pierces through
eight perfect square frames

Burning
My eyelids awake like

The Chestnuts and cigarettes in the street like

My lungs
When I try to find the words that just don’t translate

When I look up

Hallways to the Heavens
Made of limestone and butter
And my neighbor opens her
Mint green shutters
Shaking glitter into le mistral
Carrying it away until tomorrow

When she does it all over again

- Taking my shoes off

17 Fevrier 2018

Things I love about Provence:

* The man that fed his dog a crepe, bite by bite
* Zero judgment for eating gelato at any hour of the day in any type of weather (also true for wine)
* Always seeing at least one person sitting in the park, doing absolutely nothing except just being (usually for more than 30 minutes)
* Carousels in every town
* Babies in fur coats, and generally better dressed than I am
* Men wearing scarves, and also better dressed than I am
* Lines of men outside fitting rooms, waiting for their partners. Giving them honest, genuine, and loving compliments and advice
* Going to the movie theatre, very often
* Walking everywhere
* Old men that swear voraciously during their daily games of Pétanque
* Watching the old mean that swear during Pétanque while eating multiple croissants, tartes aux aubergines, feuillettes
* Not being bothered every 5 minutes during a meal (read as: outdoor meal service)
* Everything that is good about America is on average 50-75% better

- Aix, ma ville

13 Mars 2018

Things that I (don’t) love (as much) about Provence:

* The night in Monaco that I don’t remember most of
* Dog shit in the street ... everywhere
* No Tacos
* Being judged for being barefoot (and also wearing leggings as pants)
* Extremely inconsistent  weather (read as: LE MISTRAL)
* Extremely hot, or extremely cold handheld showers

- Leaving

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7 Avril 2018

And when the sky turns pink
I fall in love with you again

Only you can make bubble gum wrap around your corners
In ways that translate ends into new beginnings

Draping you in a beauty that says
There is still time honey,
Don’t rush

Drink this cool air
Like that last drop of red
That lingers in the base of
Your wine glass

The mimosa shedding
Petite pastel pompoms
Decorating my floor with laughter

Butter melting into my window
From the neighbor across the way
Dancing in the glory of the day
With a spatula in hand

Chewing on the morning baguette
Balancing bisous and cigarettes
À demain, she says smiling

- Sunsets in Aix ma ville

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