A few years ago, I presented a paper at the annual Association of Franco-Irish Studies conference in Reims, France. Ever since I spoke that first French word in my ninth grade French class, I've longed to go to that country. Finally, decades later, my dreams came true but not without the unfortunate realization that there were no washcloths at my hotel. So.....
When in France
In a French hotel in la cité de Reims,
an American searches for a washcloth.
Alas, she finds none in this room,
so she must make do.
This is France after all.
Sparkling white tub beckons her.
“Okay, Okay!”
She turns the water handle to HOT
and gently pours shampoo into the steady stream,
splashing the rising water to create more bubbles.
Then, smiling, she steps into the steaming water,
now filled with mounds of fluffy, fragrant bubbles,
closes her eyes and whispers to the 13-year-old girl
sitting in a French class, south of Detroit, decades ago.
“Oui, Jeanne ... tu seras en France un jour.”
© Jeanne I. Lakatos
