It’s morning in Paris,

and the city still sleeps,

though the sun has long risen

and the cat has long been stretched in the light

that washes over the quiet courtyard.

It’s summer in Paris,

I wrote this for a Lord of the Flies creative project for school for which a prompt was to write about what would happen if it was girls on the island instead of boys.

When you are old and too tired to sleep,

Steeping like your lemon tea

In ancient memories and dreams,

I wonder if you’ll think of me.

When your forehead’s deeply lined

With remnants of the tears you cried