I won’t lose my poems once I am in France. Words will parade properly out of my head, cleanly arrange themselves onto unsoiled sheets of white paper, and live there forever. They will be sturdy and contain the proper heft. They will not disintegrate from the spittle of interruption to stand humiliated; halflings amongst giants.
My freezer in France will be pure and always empty. No graveyard for future suppers that have perished bit-by-bit due to frostbite and laziness. When I open the marvel that will be my freezer, a clean breath of cold smoke will exhale to greet me. It will not, under any circumstances, house ice sculptures that are ruined once they are smashed to the ground.
In France I will not scream at anyone from another room. The company I choose to keep will have the common courtesy to remain within range of a volume deemed acceptable by polite society. I won’t eat vegetables from a plastic bag, send anyone to bed while the sun’s still up, or lie still and play dead.
I will have the largest bedroom door conceivable once I get to France. It will be as thick as it is tall, with a golden handle that requires a long thin key. No one will enter without knocking. Privacy will be King; ruling ironfisted. Curtains strung across doorways would never do overseas, where the languages of songs sung are now native – no questions asked.
You’ll be sorry when I’m in France, and you are still here searching for me to ask if you can eat the last of the leftovers and to demand righteousness from a rock. I won’t care. I don’t care. I’ll change my number and my name. Good luck to you then.
MD Marcus is a freelance writer and poet who loves keys, the color blue, and a good nude illusion. Her work has appeared on Salon as well as in Rat’s Ass Review, Communicators League, Calliope Magazine, The Rain, Party, & Disaster Society, In-flight Literary Magazine, and Motherhood May Cause Drowsiness, among others. Please read everything she writes and visit her on Instagram, Facebook, or at http://www.mdmarcus.com.