Two Poems
by Frances Saux
Postcards
how big the world seems until you find the place from which
it isn’t.
I know the terrace of a small café where if I order coffee in
a bowl,
I suddenly see all of Paris.
from then on: go to the mall, I’ve been to every mall,
this sunset is yesterday’s, these cobblestones are all of Florence,
painted industrial brick is Pittsburgh,
house cat in window of Victorian is San Francisco,
should have put every place in a postcard,
sent Boston in the mail, kept every snowfall in Montreal,
London on my mantel, but oh well too late,
here I am now, driving home down every freeway.
Party
I hate the birthday girl,
how older than me
she seems, how deserving
of presents, when we went
to the PARTY I looked through
the car glass at her projected
map of self, flattened across
small city, small ocean, small
road, hair blown over equator of eyes,
small lights, conquest for miles.
Frances Saux is a writer and student from San Francisco.
