THE FIRST TIME I SAW PARIS

I was thirteen
Almost fourteen
My brother, fifteen
I didn’t know about Maugham
Or that he had written there
I didn’t know about Cézanne
Or that he had painted there
Changing the way
The world would see
I only knew
That it was good to take in Paris
Through the eyes of a boy
Bursting with so much passion
That it would soon be impossible
For me to contain it
In any reasonable way

I didn’t know anything about
The French Revolution
Other than a brief mention in school
That it took place soon after
The American one
I knew nothing of Mozart
Or The Marriage of Figaro
But, I felt something stirring in me
Something magical
As I looked at the men from Africa
So black of skin they looked blue
And wondered why
Africans were in Europe and not Africa
With their carvings
Spread out on blankets
Not wanting their pictures taken
Under the Eiffel Tower
My Luxembourgian aunt said
Was too expensive
For all of us to go up in

The Parisian street stands
Were littered with men
Selling newspapers
And skin magazines
I tried to avoid looking at them
But it was impossible
They were everywhere

I was shocked to see such a thing
Out in the open
For everyone to see
I felt self conscious
In the presence of my aunt and cousins
Sick, perverted Europeans
That’s what Americans think
My aunt told me with a smile
As though she had read my mind
As we tasted wine and pastry
At an outdoor café
I tried not to be too obvious
About checking out the French girls

I was amazed that the men
Sitting next to us playing chess
Didn’t lose their concentration
The only time
They took their eyes off the board
Was to pour another glass of wine

Perhaps they took it all for granted
It was just another day to them
A day like any other
But it was all I could do
To remain in my seat
When they walked by and smiled at us
Acting as nonchalant
As I was capable of
I pretended as though
It wasn’t the most exciting thing
That I had ever experienced

As we drove past rolling hills of grapes
In the French countryside
On our way to visit the palace of Versailles
All the places we saw that summer
Drifted through my memory
Museums in Brussels
Canals in Amsterdam
Statues and fountains
Women standing in windows
Waiting for customers to come along
Mountain top chateaus in the Alps
Stone walls with bullet holes
From World War II
Cathedrals adorned in gold
Castles high on hills
Some quite old and laying in ruin
Others more recent
Elaborately furnished
In velvet, marble, and wood

Paintings of knights clashing in battle
And suits of armor guarding
Corners of spiral staircases
Leading to towers
Captured my imagination more
Than the ancient weapons of war
Hanging on walls
Alongside torture devices
That were at one time
The rage of the day