Bordeaux Cathedral

NOTE: This poem is also featured here.

 

You were gigantic
when I saw you there –
gigantic and subtle,
like the pink rose.
I was
the smallest tall girl in the world –
hiding from the beggar at the door –
he spoke my language
and I didn’t want people to know.
It was built over a mire,
which explains the difference in height
between the chancel and the nave –
it smells like burnt Templars,
it smells like tears
from the Franco-Prussian war.
And did you go up the tower –
I did –
Were you breathing in there?
Or did the walls fall in on you? –
they did on me.
From the top
I could see the construction site
at the edge of the city –
you were gigantic –
larger, even,
than the resting cranes.
It was a Sunday.

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