Literary Yard

Search for meaning

‘walk with wound’ a narrative poem

By Domonique

first night in Europe. kind Bordeaux breeze
a vista of the city . .
feet firmly planted feeling like stones
Tears fell from my eyes and down my cheeks
but there was no cathartic rescue
or release.

I felt an acute longing to truly feel nothing
and the breeze. to end all pain and suffering
and the breeze.
I perceived Death
at last
then a small girl gamboling
a few steps ahead of her mother
approaching the bridge!
sinless laughter wrested my frame to the pavement.
I then departed hastily welcoming the darkness of night.

returning to my place of stay
( large windows
Downtown Bordeaux. )
the night was still very very young.
the French eve awaits!
Garonne River.
Chez Fred. . .
no seats.
Jean-Luc knew the owner
it was nearly painful
Jean-Luc knew everyone in the port city
and we were handed a table.
large white sheets hung drying on most balconies
and every window was open allowing for the sounds
of the courtyard . .
I saw Valentine. He blew a kiss to Jean-Luc.
we drank and we fussed
Jean-Luc asked how Nina was.

Gare De Lyon.
The sun had begun to fall
and night steadily neared.
Seine River.
comfortably on a ledge
a resplendent bridge
with luxurious illustrations
incised into stone.
my eyes began to hurt
from looking at the sun
peering down from the horizon
I saw a raft of ducks
wavering atop flickering ripples
hatched from some boat
departing or entering some harbor
a shimmering reflection of a bird
flying above
immortal ripples birthed by a small log
lying idle
hidden within the never-ending movement
of the inlet.

I dragged my heart behind me
as if it were a puppy with no legs.

Las Ramblas!
Leonardo and I waited outside.
Ricci in vexation let out a cry
a few yards ahead of me
moving rapid
hunting a thief down an alley.
I brisked my stride
not to lose him
coming down the alleyway
Ricci squared upon two men.
one man swung
and missed.
maintaining a full sprint
I lowered my posture into
the same man.
we tumbled to the floor
in a twist
I picked myself off the ground
and we rose from it.
my man was breathing heavily
and his mouth was open.
reaching into his pocket
and pulling out a blade.
I took a short and urgent step
he made a wild slash and almost cut me!
I circled before lunging
at the figure again
feeling the edge of the blade
glide across my skin.
I managed to seize the man’s hand
holding the now bloodied knife
and in great struggle
freed the weapon from grip
that is when there was a shift.
I overpowered the man to the ground
and mounted a man different
I buried my fists into his cheeks
and felt the bone become weak.

following morning at our tryst
my hands were swollen
and my left hand caused me great pain
when endeavoring a fist.
I hadn’t heard Leonardo leave in the morning.
I guessed he had gone to the train station
to see off Ricci and Andrea.
the cafe across the street.
gloomy and dull.
pleasant sound of a woman’s heels
pounding the pavement
scattering my mess
a bronze-skinned woman
wearing a tight red dress.

back to the room.
Leonardo was elsewhere.

wearing nothing but her swimsuit
led me up a rocky hill
perched behind our rooms
hidden from the thrill
she moved along the dirt path
with grace and speed
flowing red hair
and the arch of her feet
danced across the terrain
just ahead of me.
she bounded down the stairs
and dove over into sea.
we swam far and wide
before retreating closer and closer
by the ladder where
shallow areas reposed.

fleeting eternity

I knocked at the door
and Ellis opened it in race
we clasped one another in a fond
and even eager embrace.
cobbles cobbles cobbles . .
the Dutch night!
both drunk as skunks
we chanted from the sails.
even the captain
took a sip of ale
when chanting from the sails . .

they insisted the boat
attend a partay
and not taking no for an answer
grew drunken tails
we used as magic carpets.
trailing them to a large black door
with no handle
in the very heart of the city.
One of the Russians knocked threetime
in an intentional tempo
receiving three knocks from the other side.
four times on this occasion.
then the door was open.
wine-red staircase
the following door knew we were coming.

last week from Dundon
had written me a letter.
she was in London.

the day was calm and a bit chilly
the clouds of Holland appeared hilly.
Ellis and I were walking
talking not really.
I had spent my time with Ellis
and now departure.
and once leaving his touch at the ferry
I was seated at the bow of a ship.
he learns to love all places
and leave all places . . .
on the ferry I retrieved a letter
from Nina. from so long ago now.
I read the letter clinging onto her crown
and it took every ounce of strength I had
to refrain from putting Nina down.

I finished the letter and
folded Nina back into her envelope.
the sun had set in England.

looking out upon the deep
my mind retraced my steps
freefalling until the bouncy blond curls
of the young girl who saved my life
at Pont d’Aquitaine.

day gripped onto dusk.
the ferry had arrived
in London.

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