Now Antipolis knows your aspect
In your cotton frock turning to art.
And that, old man, is it,
that’s all that’s left:
just these two lines laid bare
where they’ve always been,
a verdigris coin
in memory’s loose change,
a bone exposed on stony ground,
blanched by the winter sun
of your nineteenth year,
a sherd of teenage poetry
lodged forever in your head,
high on the goat-scrabble slopes
above the town of Antibes,
below the village of Biot …
Poem, in its entirety, is available in the printed version of the current issue.
Bio:
Anthony Purdy lives on Nova Scotia’s South Shore, where he writes poems and stories. In 1969 he worked on a tulip farm in Provence.