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.
on n’oublié pas
espoir est plus fort que horreur
Hope is stronger than horror
All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly
Reblogged this on Jane Dougherty Writes.
What a wonderful poem—it really captures what it must have felt like there in Paris.
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
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!
So moving. Thank you.
What courage to write and express and Be in that new version of reality. Stay strong. Our hearts are with you.
An imperfect world for sure. Beautifully written.