MAMAN Maman is French, like pastry and ballet. She teaches me to bake crackly bread— “Soft with your fingers! Softly,” she says. At night, she sings “Une chanson douce.” Je veux la chanter pour toi. Her fingers tickle my arms. She is so soft. She likes the park in April, swans and walks to museums and libraries. Sometimes she takes my hand. Sometimes she says, “You know the way,” and she follows me. She makes sure I arrive there safely.
