PAUL
KAREEM TAYYAR
Leaving
Paris
The larger the church the
More I felt that Bram Stoker should have been mounted upon the cross
Instead of Jesus
By the time I walked into Saint Sulpice
With its three story organ and its invisible player with a limited
knowledge of chords
I was certain my neck was bleeding
The Belgian chapels were more my style
With their open doors and their minimal stained glass and their riverside
gardens
The nuns didn’t mind if you slept in all afternoon
Either way it was the old ladies on bicycles I most remember
Ringing their bells with a smile to alert you of their presence their
handlebar baskets
Filled with baguettes and fruit and lace scarves in case of the weather
turning
That night in front of the last church at the edge of town
I felt like a cowboy in an old western who had awoken from an afternoon
sleep
To find his hat missing and his horse run off and every woman he’d
ever rode out
On waiting for him in the water
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