Where she lives the streets
cross each other at sharp angles,
behind the buildings are alleys
with small gardens and yards,
some of them well kept and others not.
I have never liked the sight
of a tidy garden in the city,
there’s really no excuse unless you’re gay,
and that’s always weird.
But where she lives,
vines invade every second fence,
they are out of control
but it is nice to see flags in many windows
and shabby, comfortable old people
sitting on the porches of fixed-rent appartments.
The voices of foreign students are heard
from the balconies of the unrenovated buildings,
and the rich of course live in condos with new paint,
and what they might think is nice brick,
you can see their fancy light fixtures
through the windows if you want.
We pass through one of the yards
and it smells a little of cat piss,
we always use the backdoor
and there is her kitchen table,
with some crumbs and always fruit.
I never buy fruit.
These people eat fruit
even when it has gone a little too ripe,
that means they are good, strong people
but it still puts me off a little,
and my fingers stick to the table.
I never really feel like taking off my shoes
or coat or sitting down,
in fact it would feel more natural
to get completely naked right away
but of course no,
she offers me bakery bread,
and homecooked food from the fridge.
I don’t want to but I am hungry.
I sit and say nothing
while she works at the counter
with her back turned to me.
Later we talk about our lives and politics,
she often speaks a long time
about botany and gardens,
but that is very political for her.
She knows about trees and insects
and plants that grow in the forest,
because that’s where she comes from.
I have never listened so much in my life,
and I don’t know the names of trees,
in English or in French.
At some point we start making love,
or rather kissing in the kitchen,
or on the floor beside the table,
I don’t know why
and I don’t know the names of trees
in English or in French,
but sometimes when she speaks
she gets almost teary
and it turns me on.
She is a passionate love-maker.
Eventually we make our way to the bedroom,
which is also a living room,
there are some sort of curtains
that devide the space,
and she really doesn’t cover the windows
with blinds, or close the doors.
I guess we just try but not too hard
not to be naked in front of people outside,
her sisters and her roommates
are out of town for a few weeks.
(later she told me
they don’t wear too much clothing
at her folks place in the forest)
Usually I notice more things
the morning after, visually speaking,
things about her naked body
when she dresses for work,
and for instance in her room
there are mostly only clothes.
She is not much of a make-up and perfume girl
but never looks awkward
and gives generous blow-jobs in the morning,
and that’s what counts I guess.
On the table beside the bed
there is a sheet of pills, of course.
She leaves them there like rosary beads,
but she’s not religious,
no not in the least she tells me,
her mother, as a child, was put
in some sort of awful convent,
like everybody’s mother here,
and so she is an atheist.
