Mâlain Diaries 1

Mâlain Diaries 1

“She could tell you were English,”

he said to me accusingly,

ashamed of the obvious linguistic heritage,

the slight of being too-much-oneself.

<<Projet Réstauration>>

was the bénévolat work of our visit.

Ruins being rebuilt; scraping and

uncovering what once was shiny and strong.

“They don’t understand you. If you need to say something, just

tell me and

I will translate for you.”

They uncover the foundation walls first.

Ancient, once new, ‘no-fear’ walls.

Hardened stone that could still be seen through

Covered mounds of grass, like a wound

trying to insulate itself,

building protective layers around the core,

stop the damage.

Then they uncover cellars, deep within

we didn’t even know were there.

“I don’t know why you pretend to be French when you’re not.”

he says, he means, “You disgust me.”

Small bits of pottery shards, little glittering metal and

blue painted bone that can only be seen

once softly brushed for hours.

Held fragile as it has become through

neglect-worn years.