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Postcard from Paris

Patricia Zontelli

‘It is the mating season, the women

are all in heat. My problem is the rain;

the lines are washed away. No one

survives without water. The city

simmers, the seethe of ivy climbing

walls, my hemline swaying, high heels

clicking. In the Metro, the heat, the breath

at the nape of neck. Tomorrow, I’ll walk

to the Luxembourg Gardens, shyly touch

the red tulips for you. Love,’


From Rain Dog No 7 March 2003

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