this peninsula in Greece
smells like Lake Tahoe
sun-bleached pine
the man driving me
from the airport
tells me his mother
cooks food with Meraki
means something like
made with love
Nicole's Greek
she told me
if she were me
she’d dream more
waking versions of self
family wealth
foreign husband
seasons split
between city and vineyard
I feel hungry
forget to dream
mother’s kitchen
tiled in white
invite me to sit
salt, ash, oil
this street in Paris
smells like 11 years ago
Nicole and I shivered
on the Seine
I made faces
at a little girl
on the metro
Nicole told me
I’d be a good mother
I was twenty
for the first time
imagined being good
to a little girl
making faces
like mine
Nicole speaks French
says I can do anything
I dream of
fish tank
Piscean husband
thick accent
lack of face
dreams of any kind
sexier than plans
I’ve got neither
might go back
brine something lovingly
for somebody’s mama
write Nicole a postcard
lather sunscreen
hidden places
waves only happen
in the afternoon
this peninsula
smells like someone
I’ll know