FRIDAY 13TH, PARIS

 

In the supermarket
on Saturday
in the 14th, 
on the 14th,
in numb November,
in Paris, their Paris,
our Paris, my Paris,
people push grief 
in comfortless trolleys 
down shadowed aisles 
of silence, strangers
claiming their spaces
in solidarity, in queues 
of slow moving sorrow,
seeing shadow in places 
where once there was light, 
terror in crowds 
where once there was music,
death in their streets
where once there was life.
In a supermarket
in the 14th,
on the 14th,
as the numbers rise
on a Saturday morning,
there is nothing available 
on a single shelf
to fill the void
of what we lost
in the night.

It’s not the whole world 
It’s not the end of the world
but it’s far too far from a perfect world.

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on n’oublié pas
espoir est plus fort que horreur

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Hope is stronger than horror

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All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

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7 thoughts on “FRIDAY 13TH, PARIS

  1. viviennemackie

    What a wonderful poem—it really captures what it must have felt like there in Paris.

    1. deuxiemepeau

      Thank you Vivienne, it feels like these are dark days all around the world. Sometimes you aren’t sure if you have the right to write anything and other times it feels like a necessity, a cathartic release the pours from the heart onto the page. On Saturday no one knew whether to go out or not but it seemed that even if it was just to buy milk or a newspaper, then it felt like a way of claiming back your home, your street, your way of life. Thanks for stopping by and take care

      1. viviennemackie

        I can only imagine. But, as you say, good to go out, as otherwise in another way the terrorists have “won”. We also love Paris, and did live there for a while. Now we have to be satisfied with a visit once or twice a year!

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