Rue de la Conde

When the waves crash on this shingled beach
the sound the pebbles make evokes
the Blue Dog’s claws
when we walk down the graveled paths
of the Ursuline garden

Thyme and rosemary tinge the air
and haltingly I try to voice my pain
the fears that stab in the night so hard
I can’t even draw breath
let alone roll over

She fixes me with her golden eyes
her voice rough as chicory inside my head
”Cher, you dream too hard.
You got to learn to dream easier
or you bleed to death inside.”

Her claws click across the stones
as she trots down the allée
back of the Court of Three Sisters
I turn to ask her what she means
Superior laps coldly at my feet