"Montréal" by Francisco Márquez

Montréal

Last night, stumbling after dinner, we decided   
       the only way worth telling time is by the senses, 
so we measured stretches of cloudless skies, 
      dandelion spores punctuating air like snow, 

except it was summer, and the last time we’d come
      it was cold so we couldn’t recall the radiant
eaves of the buildings, the ornate staircases 
      that wound around an old-world wind...

This is all to say the city changed with the seasons,   
      as if there’d been two of us in two different times 
or two versions deciding whether or not to move there; 
      regardless, we never would. Some places
 
are better when returned to, others worth growing  
      alongside and then others you never see again. 
We step onto the train and all the riders are silent,  
      or when they speak we don’t recognize a word, 

and we agree, we’re in love with the bliss  
      of anonymity, watching this foreign theater play out 
where it’s like there is no other language but ours:   
      talking in the ways we twist our faces, in looks  

we trade as polite, handsome Canadians whizz by
      on their bicycles: the humming when they speed,  
the clicking when they stop. Are you listening?   
      This is the city I want to be in with you: 

the early summer haze of light already vanishing,   
      not the smears of ice that make the pain go sharp,  
numb, but let’s not go there. Open the window—  
      Those colors running down the mountain are people.




Originally published in Cherry Tree

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Audio: Francisco Márquez reads “Montréal”

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Francisco Márquez is a poet from Maracaibo, Venezuela, born in Miami, Florida. His work has been featured in Poetry London, the Yale Review, The Slowdown podcast, and the Best American Poetry series, among other publications. His work has received fellowships from Bread Loaf Writers’ Conference, Tin House, MacDowell, the UCross Foundation, and the Fine Arts Work Center in Provincetown. He lives in Brooklyn, New York.

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