"To Robert Plant, Written at 81 Rue Pierre Girard, Paris" by Elizabeth Iannaci

To Robert Plant from 81 Rue Pierre Girard, Paris.jpg

To Robert Plant, Written at 81 Rue Pierre Girard, Paris

The French cats: Isabella, the black, stretches
rug-like under a chair; Simone, the gray, perches
on the sofa’s spine. I stroke her, and she becomes
a Geiger counter, the uranium not far away. Night
arrives in a rush, late for dinner. Allez & D’accord
bounce up from the street. I have just painted
my nails Purple with a Purpose. Already, little nicks
from impatience appear on their slick surface.
I should have waited to pet the cat.
From the stereo, you sing,
There is nothing sadder than losing yourself
in love
. Thirty years ago you saw me dancing
with a dangerous boy — a guitarist, on tour,
still drunk with new success. You shot me
a warning glance and later offered, Be careful.
Don’t give it all away.

I used to think I could make the night
catch its breath. I used to think I could shatter glass
with my delight, draw love to me like a compass needle
to True North. Tonight, I understand that waiting is not
doing nothing. One cannot force a cat to do    anything.
Nail lacquer dries when it dries.

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Elizabeth Iannaci

Elizabeth Iannaci is a widely-published and anthologized L.A.-based poet, whose work appeared recently in 1001 Nights: 20 Years of Redondo Poets, Saranac Review, Pentimento, Crab Creek Review, and Main Street Rag’s Suspense Anthology. She earned her MFA in Poetry from VCFA, has one son, and is partially-sighted, which may account for her preference to paisley over polka dots. In the mid-to-late 70s, she had the pleasure of working with Led Zeppelin and Swan Song Records. Her most recent chapbook is The Virgin Turtle Light Show: Spring, 1968 (Latitude 34 Press).

Photo Credit: Staff