How France Gets Into It All

by Wendy McVicker

My name is Blue Glass

and stars shine in me

nightly.

My name is Song on the Wind

and when I lift your hair and whisper

in your ear, you shiver and smile,

you raise your hand to touch me

but I am already

gone.

My name is Anemone and life trembles

in my secret depths.

My name is Jade, cool

with shadows, cool as the long

pouring of history

over stones.

Some days

I walk into the marketplace

my long hair flying

my high heels stomping

my slim legs scissoring shapes

out of each moment,

and I taste the rain and the clouds,

the plums and the nectarines.

I carry away a loaf

of the darkest bread.

Nothing

can stop me.

The dogs run with me

especially the one

with the lopsided grin

and the red bandanna

around his neck, and we go

to the river, the deep

green river flowing

between stone walls,

and the dogs bark, dancing

up and down the quai,

and the ducks watch them

expressionless

and I walk into history

just like another day

just like another spring day

with the windows open

and the flags flying

and everyone out and ready

to join the parade,

and my name is Swiftly Turning Bird

diving

into the water