Our first time in Provence,
there were five of us.
Babies one, two, and our little one, baby three.
By the time we were lunching, seated at an outdoor table
eating burgers and club sandwiches in Avignon,
fussed over by a waitress who might have been the owner,
we had driven from home in Estoril, Paris, Hamburg.
Before returning via Avignon,
we had stopped in Munich and Lausanne.
My little one still walked like a penguin,
fascinated by the swans quacking on the lake.
He said,
“The first one to see lavender gets an ice cream.”
Everyone was licking ice cream on cone waffle shortly after.
Aix on Foot.
We did Avignon by trolley train,
purchased ballet shoes for the older girls,
got lost in art galleries.
He and I weren’t talking.