Flying Birds
We met her on a Paris Metro platform
My brother and I, buskers
And Veronica there doing the same
From a distance
An angelic voice
Over 12-string guitar
Her echoing words soaring
Over roaring trains
The bustle of crowds
“…Just someone to lay down beside me
And even though it’s not real
Just someone to lay down beside me
You just can’t ask for more”
And then over drinks
And later meals
She proved to be…
The daughter of
The New Zealand ambassador
There in a Paris mansion
And with a young son
And ultimately we moved-in ourselves
With wonderful, and sometimes explosive dynamics
…Jules et Jim
Bicycle rides in the Bois
Late-night Couscous
In alley cafes
Or fireworks (of all kinds)
along the Seine
On Bastille night
Then Gibbous Club dancing
Her boyfriend angrily declaring, Adieu!
Then blows of our own
Over conflicted feelings, stollen kisses
…The days drifted by
All of them
As if in a dream
And then finally the end came
Parting, as we had begun
Trading music…
Chords to mask what had been
What was being lost
And all that was not being said
We bought her young son
A wind-up flying bird
A parting farewell
And he cried…
At more men leaving his life
And then we flew away as well
And now one of the three of us
Newly gone
And likely more
Soon on the way
Flying birds, all
…And with tears
Steven Meloan lives in the Bay Area, is a former European busker, is strangely entranced by the moon, and often wonders what it’s all about. His fiction collection, St. James Infirmary, was released in 2023 on Roadside Press, and a hybrid collection with his brother Michael, The Kind the Pharaohs Try, was released in 2024 on Naked Light Press. He is currently working on a collection of poetry…in hopes of figuring it all out.
