She met Matthieu in France,
who embodied in look
every French archetype
in film or in book -
tousled brown curls,
a frame athletic and slim,
a dark mole by his lip
and sleepy way of speaking.
In his Lyon apartment, so far from her Mid-West,
they smoked in his kitchen
in underwear with bare chests
he tapped her nose
and called her 'Poupée Américaine'
when she butchered another French word, yet again.
She wrote in emails home
it seemed almost cliché
to live out her first year in France
in this way.
Until one night he took her
to the Place des Terreaux
an artist he said she'd love
was doing a show -
and as the lights came down
and the singer emerged
at a glance she could see
Matthieu ceased to be hers.
Jacquelle.
Bathed in a lights of red,
a razor cut bob
frames a delicate head,
smoky eyes
and a infant-esque voice
that with the electro-synth
was a definite choice.
The off-shoulder crop,
with the renaissance sleeves
the pencil skirt that finishes
just under her knees
the gold coin pendant
and ballet flats
the studied little movements
on beat -
this way, then that.
'Je danse sur mon propre tambour
Mais si vous aimez aussi danser
Puis avant que la nuit ne se transforme en jour
On peut s'amuser'
If you cast an eye across the room -
and she did, blood running cold -
you'd not be unwise to assume
on Jacquelle's axis earth revolved.
Grown men transfixed - and Matthieu too -
miming along as the spell-bound do,
not turning to engage her between the songs
not breaking his gaze all gig long....
and when
at last
Jacquelle did end,
thanking all those who could attend
Matthieu whistled with such force
the rage within her broke and coursed -
consumed her entirely their bike ride home
where she sped up ahead, alone.
When they reached, he turned and smiled,
to meet her glassy stare
- in bed she shifted to the edge
imagining Jacquelle there.
In her dream a smug-faced Jacquelle sang,
from on the stage
to her French man -
descended down into the crowd
as she screamed and railed and howled,
drowned out by little baby songs
ignored, throughout, by everyone
who watched Jacquelle and Matthieu duet
and kiss and cuddle
tease and pet
until both sang into her face
hands wrapped around each other's waist.
Copyright Yafeu-Khamisi Rodway-Brown