Somewhere tonight, Delacroix’s child
steps out of the painting;
her dress torn along with the flag
still uttering its tri couleur refrain,
the cannon smoke behind
spreading thick as pollen in the air. Barefoot
she brings the battle with her —
vigilant in white candles
burning along the street, robust as wine
left in bottles to salute the ship
tossed by waves but never prone to sink;
and mournful in rows of flowers
laid upon the old stone. The street lamps gird
with vine leaves and a legacy of iron.
Note – The Ship quote is the motto of Paris referring to the city as a ship that may suffer the turmoil of storms but never sink. Today is Bastille day, so I post this poem to honor France and her resillence in the midst of terrorism as well as a memorial to those who have died in the attacks.