three poems by Fabrice B. Poussin

Trail conversations

“How you doin’? she asks
not waiting for the conformist answer
too busy taking a sip of her holy water
wrapped in plastic and early morning dew.

“Good mornin’!” they claim in bright accents
from North to South and other climes
boasting those ivory smiles
as if tomorrow would never come. 

“Have a good day!,” the gentleman softly speaks
in the path of a wife of fifty years
but she seems more interested in this lonely sight
as I snap another memorable landscape with a superzoom.

Voices echo as if words were spoken centuries before
in my head as they shake my achy muscles
ignorant of my inner thoughts, friends for a moment and
soon I ceased to exist for the chance encounters of these elusive friends.

It is an odd realization, albeit for a mere second
to feel human in the midst of a universe
that does not care too much 
whether they think you good or bad. 



 
Symphony for the eternal

Nothing is ever lost in the internet they say
it appears it is impossible to truly erase all
we ever said or ever did or ever wrote.

I think of the first cry of the first life
in this world a billion years ago
and wonder whether it too lingers in the waves.

Just like the butterfly batting its wings
resonates across the globe
perhaps we can still hear Chopin’s sonatas

as he played on the Parisian stage
despairing for his lost love
near so many tombs at Père Lachaise.

Then I too will write a symphony
with a single name inscribed into the ether
and sing for all atoms to vibrate in unison.

Perhaps then the syllables will reach her
and every fiber of her being too will tremble
so she may at last turn and extend her hand.




Contact

Blackness rules beyond the glass
perhaps there is still a ray of hope
deep in a night captured by fear.

Eyes morose bearing a somber tragedy
tears no longer evaporate upon the icy flesh
a palm ventures to touch the pane.

Stilled into the puzzling stance
awaiting for an answer never to come
he contemplates prints of another life.

Pondering what happened to a fancy
he holds onto the cruel void 
with a fist weary of too many battles.

All which remains is the faded warmth
of a brief touch upon the beloved satin
where he once listened to a fervent beat. 

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Fabrice B. Poussin is a professor of French and English. His work in poetry and photography has appeared in Kestrel, Symposium, The Chimes, and hundreds of other publications worldwide. Most recently, his collections In Absentia, If I Had a Gun, and Half Past Life were published in 2021, 2022, and 2023 by Silver Bow Publishing.  

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