inside day
rains in
it's the
shortest day
in a café at the
shops
this is old
style,
mellow pink
childhood bright
a case of
cakes
thick icing swirls
butterfly
sponge
froth in a
mug
froth in a
puddle
in the afternoon pavement
cracked and shattered
sugar cubes in silver bowl
sleek
bubbly snail foot
glides the window
pane
scratched reflections
etched
opening hours
she can’t
hear
talks
deep and loud
without
consonants
she has a
felt hat
asks me to
write on her napkin
searches
the yellow pages
takes my
seat
muzak
pleases me for the first time
and the crumbs
in a scatter pattern
all things
please me
another she
of long grey hair
leans over
my open page
to check
the number
we are all so
like each other
I really enjoyed this, Sarah, thank you. I feel like I've been in that cafe, in that world you evoke so clearly and with such economy. The rain, the cakes, the interactions. It's wonderful.
ReplyDeleteThanks Lisa. I was there today. I am glad you joined me through the poem. I don't usually stay in a cafe for so long. I felt like I had lived several lives. Maybe the magic of the Solstice? I had forgone a much trendier cafe and was glad I did.
ReplyDeleteI loved this Sarah, particularly the poignancy of your last line.
ReplyDelete