I will submit poems once a week.
I will go to the library once a week.
I will go to the readings. I will go to the workshops.
I will go to a bar on Thursday. I will go to a party on Friday. I will learn how to tie a cherry stem with my tongue.
I will read the Times.
I will go to the farmer’s market with a string bag on Saturday, and come home on the bus with flowers in a brown paper sac.
I will go to used bookstores on Sunday when it is raining, and I will wear my Amelie black shoes.
I will finish editing my novel. I will send it out by Thanksgiving.
I will start telling strangers my name is Alice because they keep hearing that, anyway.
No, I won’t do that. That’s dumb.
I will resist cutting bangs again because my face is too round and my hair is too wild, and I should have learned my lesson the first time.
I will learn my lesson the first time.
I will go to a new place.
I will write back. I will write in the mornings. I will write in the late, late nights. I will write in the long afternoons.
I will stop leaving such big tips because I cannot afford to leave such big tips. One day, I’ll come back to you with love. Until then, I will go. I will finish. I will learn. I will resist. I won’t resist. I will listen, just listen, to what is being whispered.