When I stopped in Paris
I had my photo taken
like any tourist.
But I didn't know
the history beside me.
By the Seine I stood
taking a break from
the bustling tourists
at Easter time,
while others walked on
probably thinking of
a crucifixion and sales,
and now I realise
I was near a more
recent one, and a
'sale' gone wrong.
The Seine dissolved
her ashes:
dead at 19,
burned for alleged heresy.
Not quite the second coming
of the Lord but to
her people an image
of Hope in a
'desperate, dark time'.
Fitting to have been
there at Easter time,
this history unknown
but the story invisibly
stored beside me;
those drowned
ashes of youth: a life
so terribly discarded..