Marianne

She's ephemeral.  She just floats there behind the guarded turnstile and above her are the words Liberté, égalité, fraternté;  

They're the words above every school I've ever worked in and above the mairie we married in. 

Once I crossed La Place de l'Obelisique, the Tramontane sent the tricolore into a fury which caught me up too and the sky was blue and the wind blew the flag above Maillol's Pomona and I chose this as my home.

20 years later I stand at the turnstile in front of the prefecture at Foix waiting for someone to let me in. Marianne stared out at me and the others waiting at the turnstile

The longer I live here I doubt the extent fraternité,  Eglaitité or liberté  really has . but I give a nod to the armless, bodyless Marianne as I leave the préfecture