Bordeaux Cathedral You were gigantic when I saw you there – gigantic and subtle, like the pink rose. I was the smallest tall girl in the world – hiding from the beggar at the door – he spoke my language and I didn’t want people to know. It was built over a mire, which explains the difference in height between the chancel and the nave – it smells like burnt Templars, it smells like tears from the Franco-Prussian war. And did you go up the tower – I did - Were you breathing in there? Or did the walls fall in on you? – they did on me. From the top I could see the construction site at the edge of the city – you were gigantic – larger, even, than the resting cranes. It was a Sunday. Anca Rotar This poem first appeared at http://www.chrisdenengelsman.nl and on the author's personal blog. Anca Rotar is a Romanian-born writer of poetry and fiction. She was driven to writing by her love of stories and verse, as well as by an ever-increasing fascination with mysteries and the unknown. Her biggest complaint is that there are too many interesting things in the world and hardly enough time to discover them all. http://ancaspoemsandstories.wordpress.com
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June 2025
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