Somewhere: 28 Rue St. Jacques
Or eating spam fried rice in the courtyard
after kindergarten, and playing cowboys
with Thierry, the kid next-door. We shared toys,
but not comics. Written language was hard
to decipher, unlike the spoken. I
never captured the nuances, and lost
the rest over the years. Today the cost
eludes me, like moths fluttering by. Try
to recall that particular morning light,
how it glanced off the French snow, and the
way our mother smiled at breakfast, no trace
of sadness, yet, the lines marking our heights
rising along the wall, limbs of a tree
we’d never climb, out there, somewhere, in space.
* * *
This was originally drafted during the August 2015 Tupelo Press 30/30 Challenge. I was never satisfied with it, and didn’t see any reason to revise. But those memories are worth sharing!
O at the Edges 
I think it’s worth another go. Wonderful images, Bob.
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Thank you, Sarah. Maybe one of these days. I’d likely have to move from the sonnet form to do it justice.
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“Today the cost eludes me” and “Try to recall…” and the lines that follow illustrate how what was and what wasn’t are incorporated into memory, becoming less reliable as time goes on.
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Especially memories these old – 50+ years ago!
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Perhaps this is but the first in a series of recalls from lost somewheres? As I read this it feels inviting … How long were you in France?
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We lived there for 3 and a half years. Arrived on my fourth birthday, left before the end of 2nd grade.
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I really like this. The picture that goes with it is beautiful. This poem recalls memories, yet can’t quite grasp them. They slip through the fingers like sand.
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Thank you, Cyndi. Old memories (and some new) are like that – hard to grab. The picture is from morguefile.com.
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Not Thierry Henry, right?
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Ha. No, afraid not.
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A trip down memory lane. I like it’s flow and how you used enjambement to break up the structure. I wish I had childhoof memories like this, actually. Brings up a melancholy. I definitely was moved by reading it.
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Thanks, Matthias. I enjoy working with the sonnet form and trying to “disguise” it with enjambment and rhythm. I’m pleased this resonated with you.
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So poignant. (I had a house at No 6 rue St Jacques, Sigoules)
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Thanks, Derrick. This was in Milly-la-Foret.
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There must be many streets of that name
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I’d guess so.
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A Déjà vu indeed for me, and it takes me back to my time in France. I remember being cranky for the first week due to the language and the food. Then I met my people, who made my time enjoyable afterwards. Almost every city I lived in France has a street or bus-top with the name Jacque.
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I don’t remember much about my first week, except seeing my dad in the airport.
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That’s sure an evergreen memory for you, seeing papa is always awesome.
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Oh, yeah. The family had been apart for months.
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Family reunion is amazing. I would never forget the moment I met my family at the train station.
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Especially in childhood.
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Of course, it means a lot. I got to speak my mother tongue, and few minutes drive, I got to eat my native meal.
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Can’t beat that!
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Yea haha!
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Yes, I think it’s worth your revision time. But that doesn’t really matter does it, since it’s your poem? Lovely images and a sense of loss.
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Maybe one of these days. I think I’d have to dismantle the sonnet form, which would be fine. It was definitely a crutch in this case, as I was having a hard time writing that day, and resorted to the form out of desperation. 🙂
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