Our hotel in Amsterdam had arranged our transportation to the train station. It wasn’t far, but traffic was congested. Once there, we boarded the Thalys, the high-speed train from Amsterdam to Paris with a single stop in Brussels (it’s now called the Eurostar). 

My wife had taken French in high school and college, but I think we were both slightly apprehensive about Paris. I’d been told that no one in Paris spoke English except English-speaking tourists, “and if even if a French person does, they’ll never admit it and just stare at you with a blank look.” I’d also been told, “They don’t like Americans.”

 

I would learn a French word, or, more precisely, a phrase. It would get branded on my brain the entire time we were in Paris.

To continue reading, please see my post today at Tweetspeak Poetry.

Photograph: the Louvre at night, via Unsplash.

Some Thursday Readings

 

Tipping Your Kayak – poem by Sarah Chestnut at The Rabbit Room.

 

Poetry as Reclamation – Huma Sheikh at Writer’s Digest.

 

Soft words – poem by Sonja Benskin Mesher.

 

“Nightwind,” poem by John Clare – Sally Thomas at Poems Ancient and Modern.

 

Sharing the Grail – poem by David Whyte.

 

“There Will Be Stars,” poem by Sara Teasdale – Sally Thomas at Poems Ancient and Modern.