Call me jolie fleur/ poem by Meghan O’Brien

Call me jolie fleur

each of the times we

speak between                         

three-month intervals,

you assign me

saccharine French

endearing appellations

rich enough to

fill the space in

which we never really

knew each other.

Casual conversation                

spanning continents—

spanning consciousness—

careful memories of    

balmy terrace evenings,

music under a

starry expanse,

languid language exchange,

wary affection,

sucking the cigarettes

you rolled between your         

tiny rosebud fingers.

That night we all rallied

to go out in Krakow,

you beheld me

wide-eyed, we waxed

poetic about

magic hour spells

elapsed in our mutual

Italy. We slipped out

just the two of us.

I should have kissed you

in the Polish snowstorm.

////////////

Meghan O’Brien is a writer, artist, and linguaphile based in New York. Her poems—recurrently comprising themes of travel, nature, and the sublime—have appeared in Chronogram and Stonesthrow Review, among others.

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