The stone is cold beneath me.
It seeps through the coat,
too heavy for my shoulders,
too big to be mine.
It smells like smoke and baguette
and someone else’s home.

My pale foot dangles,
Father once said that marble is forever,
I wonder if forever is cold too.

I wrap my arm in the white cloth he left behind
It still carries his scent –
tobacco, soap, and dust
Faint as breath on a window
When I press it close,
The frost doesn’t bite so much.

Around me, soldiers sleep in stone.
Their faces look tired but kind
Maybe they’re watching
making sure I can dream

I dream of green hills,
of strawberry ice cream melting too fast
Somewhere in that dream
Father calls me his little sweetheart again

The air tastes of dust and age
I close my eyes,
And the silence folds around me
Like a soft and warm blanket