National Poetry Month Challenge - Day 15

Today's prompt was to write either a love poem, an anti-love poem or some combination of the two.  In honor of one of our oldest friends from college getting married this summer, I wrote a poem about one of our first trips to Paris, when Scott met us for the day to tour around.  It is a snapshot in time of our early marriage, our love of Paris, our love for each other, and the joy of knowing that we were meeting up with an old friend.  It all kind of melds together into a somewhat humorous, narrative poem involving a baguette.  Hmm ... let's see what happens.

Au Lapin Agile, ca 1880-90

We Were in the Tub

Now You Know

(For Scott G., in celebration of his engagement.  Psst, take her to Paris.)

Paris is all about romance –

romance and art –

romance, art and food –

romance, art, food

and long, luxurious mornings of love.

We had all of these things

on our first trip to Paris.

Me, on a bed, with a baguette.

You would think that bread was my lover.

Does it live?

Asked Ali, when she saw the photograph.

After walking past Le Lapin Agile,

realizing it was closed,

but longing to sit in the same corner

where Picasso or Modigliani once sat,

we gave up staring at the hours of operation sign

and walked up a very long flight of sand-colored steps.

Arriving at the smallest hotel room in Paris,

I fell onto the bed,

baguette in hand.

We’ll eat some of this later –

with wine.

I’ll just close my eyes here for a while.

Click –

husband took the now infamous,

unattractive photo of me,

asleep on the bed –

comatose and hugging my French bread.

I will never let go of good bread –

that would be a waste.

I dream walk into the tub,

look at the bidet in the room

with raised eyebrow,

and sleep a bit more

in the lukewarm water.

My love joins me.

We rest together

arm in arm –

leg resting on leg.

I awaken to the sound of the phone ringing.

Splashes fall,

I do not move.

It’s Scott.

He’s here.

Quick, get dressed.

We’ll meet him at Le Jardin du Luxembourg.

I bet Scott never knew

what we were up to

when he picked up that phone.

Now he does.

Cristina M. R. Norcross

Copyright 2014