“Parisian Existentialism”

Few stars above Paris ce soir

the air has a bite, a chill.

Apartment buildings tower

over a quiet street

long past its bedtime

but lights still suggest

the lives lived inside.

Lifetimes played out

like a child’s bedtime story

l’un sur l’autre

a baby grows between

a newly wed couple and

a lonely old man

a girl has her first kiss

beneath harsh noises of a love gone wrong.

Lives lived like pegs on a checkerboard

like moths to a flame

they gather here

under a starless sky

hovering on a quiet street

in Paris.

I wonder if God can see us all

like Santa delivers his Christmas cadeaux.

If she knows our addresses

social security numbers and visa expiration dates.

I wonder if these things matter

in the least, to her,

or is it the color of our eyes

that she studies with caution

the temperatures of our hearts

the fervor with which we cast off our fears?

Does she keep score as we accumulate,

when we backslide or when we achieve?

Does she see only the win,

or also if we had to deceive?

A la fin, will she smile with benevolence

or strike with thunder?

And when we stare out at a starless sky

in Paris

does she notice our millions of eyes, staring up

and reciprocate the wonder?

by Ihotu A

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