Glass Poetry Press

Volume Three Issue One

Brianna Noll

Because Audrey Hepburn Movie Marathons Give Me Ideas

Of course Paris is romantic, with its angles, its air threaded with smoke, but, self-conscious of my indelicate American r's, I could never enjoy it. Unless a group of musicians followed us around, à la Love in the Afternoon. One must play the accordion and wear a red beret. The others could choose their instruments as long as they knew La Vie en Rose. They'd accompany us everywhere — it'd be wonderfully cinematic. They could join us at the Opera, interrupt Lohengrin when it gets schmaltzy — Wagner always made you want to dive off the balcony into the orchestra. When you take me home, our ragtag quartet would serenade us to bed. You'd request something from Carmen because Bizet was French, and you'd lure me to bed like a toreador in red satin sheets. We'd keep it rough, in case the musicians were watching, and as you spank me I'll growl, my American r's keen and sharp against my teeth, against your skin.