Swimming in the Lot river,
many mushy weeds to wade through:
when you get out far enough in the clear,
It feels delicious.
Sloughing off the heat,
swimming underwater, my hair waves softly.
I look at the murky green depths below.
Coming up for air, anything seems possible
even on a very hot summer’s day in Lugagnac.
Miles from my NYC apartment, where white
bedroom walls sometimes press in on me,
I feel happily out of time swimming
in my new element, the Lot river.
That July, France won the world cup.
When we get back to the house
La Bouriette, the potted orange, pink,
and magenta geraniums seemed to be celebrating too.
Taking the dirt road, we bike
to Saint-Cirq-Lapopie.
The hills are long and steep.
I walk my bike part way up.
My friend Wendy accompanies me.
We talk about our NYC childhoods.
How we kids had to put sticky notes
with SAT Vocab words up in the bathroom.
Once we reach Saint-Cirq-Lapopie,
we split up to go to the small
shops to buy what’s needed
for dinner. Marketing in France is a mix
of going into shops
and culling from the garden.
Everyone helps cut up the assorted vegetables—
tomatoes, eggplant, onions, peppers.
We eat ensemble: ratatouille, bread,
and wine with roast boar.
From the meal and all its steps:
marketing, making and eating,
I feel like Dorothy. I know I’m not
in New York City anymore, but instead,
with friends in the village of Lugagnac,
in the Lot region of France
the summer of the World Cup.
Kim Bendheim 