It’s not easy to say goodbye
To the quaint cobblestone streets
And crooked timber-framed houses
Of the Place St. Anne
And to the same familiar greeting
Of the yogurt man
And woman at the Marché de Lices
And to the 19th century townhouse,
A special school, home to 67 Americans
Anticipating life-changing discoveries
And to the smiling, cheerful Breton dancers
Skirts swirling, pinkies turning in a snail-shaped pattern
And especially to the large, country-style
White house on Rue du Petit Canais.
Shards of a nine month, yet seemingly ephemeral journey
Filled with long-lasting memories
Of intrinsic value
That changed us
Linger like warm tea and cookies
As I shed a tear
Echoing the patter of the rain from
The dark, somber sky creating a melancholy atmosphere.
At 4 a.m., the remainder of a sleepless night,
I am tenderly embraced and held
By soft, gentle, and caring arms
Never letting go until the official departure is called.
The bus rumbles, trapping me inside
But leaving my soul behind.
It’s not easy to say goodbye
As I waved and smiled
Then I cried.