Violinist Outside Sacre Coeur

This man made me weep, though everything about Sacre Coeur made me weep. I thought of my mother most of the time, how she would have loved me being here, how I would have sent her photos and emails, telling her everything, asking what this or that means, what was that song she played, that food we ate, and who were my twin uncles named Leveque. Comeau was her maiden name. I never even met my French-Indian grandmother who supposedly died while fluting a pie, don’t even have a photo of her, or my grandfather. I have so little idea of where or who I came from, but this is the place I needed to come to. All those French songs that still live in my head.

Sur le Pont d’Avignon
L’on y danse, l’on y danse
Sur le Pont d’Avignon
L’on y danse tous en rond

On the bridge of Avignon
We all dance there, we all dance there
On the bridge of Avignon
We all dance there in a ring

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