RELATIONSHIP Poem: Colette, by Kristi Hager Johnson

Her French name,
love of French magazines, clothes and cigarettes.
Her oversized Jean Paul Gaultier sweater, black leggings and flats,
a scarf dipped in French perfume around her neck.
Her languid eyes –
the color of the sea at Nags Head before a morning storm.
Her shy French boyfriend – David
with those seductive eyes and curly brown hair.
She savored his name –
it rolled off her tongue like sex…Daahh–veeeed…
watching her very American
Claudet Colbert lips say it you just knew –
This kid drank red wine with this croissant at breakfast and
sipped cappuccinos at midnight;
while the rest of us Raleighites
drank buttermilk with our grits
and took stolen shots of Irish whiskey with a chaser of Cheerwine.
Under the Carolina pines he lights her Yves Saint Laurent
pushing her on the old school swing.
The night air mixes –
tress moss, cigarette smoke, and Southern magnolia,
making its own Carolina perfume.
The stars look down –
jealous of first love.
Tonight he is the French Gatsby
she is the American Daisy
The green light of young hope reflects in her eyes…
And all is right at sixteen.

Author: poetryfest

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