What I Bought in Paris

Not hats or coats, shoes, bottles
of wine or olive oil, paintings
sold on the street, soccer jerseys.
Not items requiring me to throw away
used underwear to make room
in my suitcase, items that at home
would take over closets, cupboards, or walls.

I bought trinkets so tiny
I can balance all three, carefully as I would
a baby bird, in one hand. One is
a snow globe, small and orange,
showing me what I did not see in person,
the Arc de Triomphe at wintertime,
as if something so famous and stately
needed all that flurry to be magical.

The second, a music box that plays
“La Vie en Rose” when I turn the crank.
I love to watch the gears inside and
zone out, imagine myself in the Latin Quarter
at night, dancing slowly while
shoppers and tourists look on, amused.

My favorite is a miniature Eiffel Tower
because of the long lines and two elevators
to get to the top, well over an hour’s time,
before being gifted the whole city,
spread out like a buffet for the eyes.
Yet here it is on my bookshelf, shrunk
to three inches, almost as if I broke a piece
right off the original to keep as my own.