by Sophia Ogden

In Paris, the most shining
city of them all, I sit
in a cozy bistro across
from Notre Dame
and feel terribly lucky
and horribly homesick

The City of Lights is mine
for three whole days,
and I will peruse
Shakespeare and Company,
and I will witness
the dazzling lights of
the Eiffel Tower at night,
and the entire time, I will
feel out of place

I,
in my Walmart-bought t-shirt
and denim shorts
and broken-in white sneakers,
am so obviously a tourist
it’s physically painful

and the crusty croissants are divine,
and Montmartre is enchanting,
but my feet ache, I’m exhausted,
and I miss my mom’s hugs

I am served a beef stew that
smells oddly familiar, and
with one taste, I am back home
in Delaware on a cold Sunday
evening, as Dad yells at a football game
on tv, and Mom serves juicy beef
and vegetables straight from the crockpot

There’s no way in hell
they have the same recipe here,
in this French bistro,
but it’s comforting to think
that these trained chefs know
the same things about food as my mom
without even realizing it

I want to close my eyes
and pretend with each bite
that I’m home, but
why ignore the fact that I am,
of all places, in Paris? Which,
of course, is somebody else’s home

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Sophia Ogden (she/her) is a poet based out of Middletown, Delaware. Having received her BFA in Creative Writing from The University of the Arts, she now spends her time volunteering at the Everett Theatre, substitute teaching within the Appoquinimink School District, and, of course, writing the best poetry she can. Her work is deeply personal, seated at the intersection of cozy sentiment and blunt honesty. She dedicates her poem ‘Tastes Like Home’ to her mother, the greatest chef she knows and best friend she’s ever had.