My first time in Paris
I befriended a young 
college student
from the Midwest, 
spending a few days 
haunting the Louvre
and running up the steps 
of Montmartre 
then rushing into
a bakery to buy
crusty bread and croissants, 
hoping to discover
a brilliant new artist
painting along the Seine—
until her boyfriend
showed up one Sunday, 
spoiling our picnic plans
and taking her away
to Versailles and points South. 

I never saw her again
but years later
a postcard arrived
sent to my mother’s house— 
a painting of the Eiffel Tower 
on front of the card 
and a brief message 
saying she had moved 
to France to study art 
at the Sorbonne 
“Paris isn’t the same 
without you,” she wrote, 
“but my memory
floats along, a watercolor 
I can still see
no matter how many 
times I paint it over.”