Your name sounds French
but your bohemian dissatisfaction
mouths the language of quiet, dead alleys
snaking through aisles of
a fuming cigarette in one hand
a regretted tattoo in the other
at the edge of an embittered balcony
trying to numb
an undefined pain.
You’re an emotional billiard
hanging on to the resin
of the plastic straws
in the café au laits
sipped at the windowsill
in an over-large t-shirt
of some punk band you used to like,
hanging on to the melody of
the southern accents
spilling out of the crowds underneath,
hanging on to the awaited surprise of the
honey, I’m home,
crawling up to you from behind
to kiss your neck.
you coughed up the seeds of pain
and let them bloom.
and now you’re here,
sipping a lemonade,
gripping a bouquet of nostalgia.
At least you don’t cry as you used to.
Margaux Emmanuel is a sixteen-year-old French-American student at the French high school in Kita-ku, Tokyo. She is a student in the literature and language section at her school by day, a kickboxer in the evenings, and a writer by night. She has been book blogging for about four years (https://theyoungreadersreview.blogspot.com) and frequently participates in spoken word events in Tokyo.