Perspective From The Third Chair
I sense you stride across Place Lamartine. Hear you point, gesture to La Maison Jaune looking up to my window adjusting your silk dress staccato every step en route to la chambre parfum wafting like lilac in spring. I await your sharp knock for I anticipated your arrival the parquet finely brushed by bisom, by me. Chairs positioned exactly, according to tai-chi the rules determined by yin and by yang. My jackets, my chattels neat on the far wall ordered by colour: indigo the left, green towards right. L’eau fills the blue pitcher, le savon the flat plate. A freshly laundered towel droops the brass hook. Ghostly white linen festoons my bed after washing, starching, triple pressed. I squint at le miroir now devoid of image yet our pictures stare, down from on high to remind me that once once we were to be as one in this modest apartment, this was to be our home with Paul briefly in situ sur la gauche. Your existentialism abounds from every dark corner, azure walls a metaphor for your prolonged absence. While breathing intensifies like rapid gunfire echoing along le couloir missing the offbeat when an aching heart warbles chanson française as I hear stilettoes Doppler shift indicating arrival at the apartment next door. Then everything becomes still everything silent. No lilting fragrance not a whisper of wind. Not the expected grande entrance though I envisage a spirit rising rising through the ether as bells loudly peel from Saint-Trophime the Tower. For I feel you every morning miss you every day. Cry when I don’t want to . . . cry myself to sleep.
Born in Scotland of Irish lineage, Alun Robert is a prolific creator of lyrical verse achieving success in poetry competitions. He has featured in international literary magazines, anthologies and on the web. His influences extend from Burns to Shakespeare, Kipling to Betjeman, Dennis to Mazzoli.