Dear lady at the Desk of Hotel Saint Antoine Rue de Faubourg, Paris France - Barry Denny

[Larry Robinson]

Dear lady at the Desk of Hotel Saint Antoine Rue de Faubourg, Paris France

You mistakenly assumed I was complaining when I arrived 
too early to check into my room. “Monsieur,” you said, “I cannot 
work miracles.”

How can I be so angry at such a small slight? 

With hours to squander 
before I take possession of my room, 
I curse you under my breath and
board the train to Giverny
where Monet lived and painted water lilies.

Well, merci Madame, I’ve since returned  
to New York,  imagine  me sitting  on a bench 
not far from where I live. Time shifts wreck havoc 
with my equilibrium and I’m a bit down in the dumps. 

In front of me I see five species of animal: 
Dogs on leashes—which I’ll ignore since they lack free will to roam,
sparrows,
starlings,
squirrels and 
pigeons.
A holy array of spritely hunter-gatherers nibbling 
at food or else just messing 
around in their own private space—separate
from one another. 

I sigh, and suddenly these creatures assemble at my feet, 
a mosaic of  squirrel fur and bird feathers, 
a harmonious tableau. Why are they here? 
No peanuts, worms or breadcrumbs in my pockets, and for sure, 
I am no Francis of Assisi.

Madame, let us explore the concept of miracles. 
Is this congregation of small animals bonding
for my benefit alone? No, it’s merely my job to be astonished. 

What? 
I’ve failed to account for the universe human before me
Old people with walkers, death in their eyes,
nannies shoving strollers,
greenmarket shoppers schlepping canvas totes,
tattooed denizens in undershirts and straw bowlers,
workers carting trash. 

I look, squint and gazes a second time,
we never see the same scene 
or think the same thought twice.

What am I neglecting to notice as I think this thought?

Ah, Monet, poor man going blind at Giverny,
sky and pond a haze, 
plants and water coalescing, 
a palate of colors bleeding into a scene
without borders. Nothing permanent. 
The ecology at Giverny is not the same
as the lawn near the bench where I sit in Manhattan.

Madame, thanks for booting me out of the hotel.

	- Barry Denny