Nicole Kuwik

A FRENCHMAN WEEPS

I have never been to Paris, but
the caption on the photo says
"A Frenchman weeps as German soldiers march
into the French capital,
Paris, on June 14, 1940,
after the Allied armies had been driven back across France."

Well, the photo makes my eyes fill up too,
Something about his suit and tie and
the way my dad bit his lip
the whole way back from the casket
at my grandma's funeral






THE RAIN, IT COMES IN THE AFTERNOON

It's storming outside
and the thunder,
while alone,
is something I am not afraid of

However,
the flowers you brought have died
and are smelling of attics in Ohio
as I am leaving them to dry






IT'S ENGRAVED, YOU SEE, AND CAME IN THE MAIL

I shiver without reason
and my hair
stands up straight as
I contemplate the lives
of people with cable

"I'm not even gonna lie,
I miss TV," he said before
digging up the
Tiffany's necklace
I never asked for from
1 Christmas and
86 miles ago

We sat on dark wood floors
in a creaky house as
he handed me bobby pins
and clips I didn't care about
anymore, then got too drunk
to see my face

I left a plastic flower on
his broken bathroom sink
before I left, but I know his teeth are
rotting, regardless
in that mis-firing
head of his.

© Nicole Kuwik was born in Cleveland and misses fireflies in the summer. She spends a lot of time with a fish named Mortimer, and thinks all people who write poetry should develop a taste for apple brandy. She thanks you for reading her work and hopes you like it.


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nicole kuwik