APRIL 17: Christine Rose
PIGEONS OF LAC-DES-NATIONS
My children chase you
as we go to buy croissants at the market
and watch you nest in the metal boats
in the kiosk of the passerelle des draveurs—
a living art installation.
My son could spend hours in your pursuit,
while my daughter beckons you to come closer,
two opposing forces in everything.
You perch on the black awning behind La Tribune,
swoop under the pont des papetiers,
leaving white streaks and startling passersby
before you lift in one iridescent sweep to the sky.
Arms stretched wide, my children circle,
rising and falling on invisible currents
that race down the blue patches
between buildings,
while you cock your heads at me in question: .
Don’t you have wings?
I laugh nervously, part of me wondering
have I become that lady?
The other secretly hopes
I have at least some bird in me still.
Now each morning before dawn, I look for you
from my third-story rooms.
Without you, I might forget the air itself,
might forget to dream,
might forget even to write poetry.
Without you, I might forget that circling
up and down on invisible currents
is how we fill our best days.
Christine Rose writes for children. When not building forts, crafting, or reading with her kids, she can be found with her nose in a book or her head in the clouds. She also coordinates the library’s Makerspace program. Find her at: christinerosebooks.com