Better late...

...even very late, than never. 
I do not wear this jacket very often. Even though it was love at first sight between us. Back in 1999, while driving between Dallas and Austin. I spotted a roadside shack selling secondhand clothes, on the other side. Did a U turn, entered the shop, went to a rack, saw the jacket, felt it, wanted it. 

Being right-handed, I normally use the inside left breast pocket. So I was surprised to feel something in the inside right breast pocket, while taking the jacket down to Luca to see if it would fit him.

It was like a mini time capsule in there. A great rush of totally unexpected memories:
- Boarding passes. American Airlines. Dallas - Raleigh Durham - London Gatwick. In Economy... Strange. 
- A flyer for a music bar in Tokyo
- A ticket for Lloyd Cole in the Pavillion in Dun Laoghaire
- A poem. An award-winning poem actually. I got €500 for the privilege. And a big fockoff medal from the French embassy. Heavy. I wore it on a big fockoff chain around my neck, a la Snoop Doggy Dre
- And Mimi's birth present from Pepe's brother, Phelim. Not birthday present. Birth present. A miniature silver spoon. Delivered to the baby girl today. Barely thirteen years late. 
She is chuffed all the same.

Sublimarine



Sur la falaise,

Equilibre précaire,

D’un battement de cils

Tu définis l’éphémère

Bourrasque de grains d’eau,

Quelques mouettes, il en faut,

Le vertige de la mer,

Le gout sucré de l’amer,

Tes griffes rétractiles et

Les lames qui battent plus bas,

Me rappellent le couteau.

 

La mort dans l’âme

Je plonge la lame

Entre tes côtes

Flottantes

Et tu t’affaisses,

Pantelante.

Je te suis dans la chute,

Moi, l’homicide marin,

Toi, ma sublimarine.

 

Vivre et mourir au bord de l’eau

Aimer

Souffrir

Jalouser

Dans les volutes,

Le cri de la chute

Albatros désailés

Pesants de remors

Précipités vers la mort

Des galets.

 

Allons rejoindre la grève

Et l’océan

Prenons de vitesse

Ces quelques goélands.

Nous nous passerons d’épitaphe

Puisqu’il le faut

Nous laisserons le ressac

Chanter notre amour mort

Soir après siècle

Et pour très très longtemps

Au pied de la falaise,

Sur les galets blancs