by December 11, 2022 0 comments

in this place that was sun-warmed
this place with windows for walls that was
mostly light
an old betty came in, with a pursed sense
of class
and her protégé, talking about work in the arts
they order drinks, sit down and
talk too loud at the table next to me
the barista is handsome, he brings me
a fresh decaf Americano and biscotti,
on the house, when I’m not looking and adding
simple syrup to my mug and cream
there are these
fleeting moments of togetherness I have
sometimes, at a warm place, in the right
when my weariness is so heavy it can
pull away the veil and a gesture will turn me
like a key
they aren’t often, but they’re enough—
wistful, breath-like moments when
the world doesn’t mind, either way,
and I feel a grace bounding like a starling
along a length of battleship chain.

editors note:

The perfect perch. – mh clay

Leave a Reply