I’m spooned, in one, in two,
Shots of cappucino brown
in coffee rounds
in Coffee Houses
I’m here not there
for roasting and for healing
on grounds of feeling
and in search
of smoother, softer, kinder dealings.
“I’m missing you”
rolls rich and sad,
over lips and tongues
Pours over rims and brims and hoods,
like drifts of snow on fur capped, tossled hers and his.
The snow is falling where you are
and here outside on thirsty parking lots
as I remember just how deafening
both truth and silence are…
and so I drive my car
the deer line miles
in running, running, mentally that long fence
that rivals Jean Claude and Christo
toward a peace and freedom
I’ve lost my place and so…
I’m rather here inside…
both touched and untouched
so much to see and smell and hear, and find.
I’m parked inside the coffee house of her, and her, and her, and him.
I’m making love here in my heart
and feeling lots
Start to work…..slow and easy
Prayers and songs are playing
I’m swaying in His eyes
and his eyes too.
Italian business owner.
His meeting ends. Eyes meet.
He stays here for a little longer watching
what he just can’t miss in me…
All that intreagues a lonely, privileged man
across a crowded, boiling space and station.
He doesn’t know what I don’t have for him, and yet…
He’s watching me and making reservations
in wanting to know, and showing curiousity
but, I’m fairly clueless for awhile…
Oblivious to him…in what so naturally I give
and he won’t get in more than smiles and conversation
Heh, heh….the holiday display is really every day for me
in terms of personality, I just don’t think what others think…
I park, I sit, I situate
spread out to write, to wait the whisperings
innitiate the ritual
Cat arch my aching back to form just one of many
illlustrated long, lean, feline stretches..ouch
but I am breathing purrs,
no mind for who or what is here around me
I’m only stopping, pausing paws
I’m only stroking keys and keyboards
It’s only for a moment….nothing special
my levitating in the beauty of this moment
if only for myself and for the presence of it.
I rest, I rise, I stretch, I stroll, I sit again
I wave this long soft, fluffy
in weaving, waving
of up and down and smiles, and
leave open space and time and Macs to tick tock
tick tock….and I,
Like time…..I try to stretch it,
stretch it out,
I am as sweet soft cinamon
a powdered sugar French toast kiss
a warm, wet, drippy pastry roll for brunching
a bagette branch of my own artisan creation
a pile of fragrant fir boughs
a nest of woodsy cones and pillows
Nose to knows to No-s to
I rest here hours and hours
where hours of rest and down at home have failed
Slip off to near blessed slumber
I see much better in this Pixar dream
here in this silent observation
In celebrating inner precious gifts from God
as if this were my one Last Supper in His company.
Though I’m a sinner… I am.
Clumsy child, me,
a kid in housewares, furs and furnishings
sure to brake the glassware
to crumb the cake, to blur the vision
and bur the trail.
I lick the sugar, spice, the missing Irish creamer topping
I munch and nuzzle fluffy, overflowing pastry
bounce from chair to chair in overstuffing
Happy me in people warmth
and kinder kind
and kinder lines and line ups
Amazed at what I find
in being gifted soft lit charming beauty in this vision
lowlight….. far from fast serve and fighting
undemanding unassuming in this room
without life’s limits and demands
all set and situated in creature comfort
and filled with love for others and Cans not Can’ts.
I open, peel the citrus orange I’ve grown here in my healing
a Christmas blend to share with friends I long for making
a swirling heat and convalescense in my empty loins
a strange familiar Misto-ry of beverages and strangers
Colognes and Cozy coffee smells suspended ….real
and hanging here like stockings in the Christmas air
Pretended new, in new familiar welcome looks
Wish you were here in sharing with me
All of this
Just wonder what we’d make
among our conversation
What would I say?
What would you say… or wouldn’t say to me?
if only you would speak to me in tones meant more than…
the safer Please and Thank you.
Within within the coffee tin
establishing a newness and acceptance
Establishing and practicing
a ground more rich and richer in the finding, than in the loss and ending of things
I skip, and run, among the playful grounds of once mistakes
They form a waiting ribbon waving in the summer winds
they form the shapes of coffee pots and lemon drops, and friends
I’m minding what I’m finding far from all the blinding winds
and all that once did bind me,
the squeeling steam and kettles,
Black Friday rioting and biased riddles
far from the vaccuum noise and airbrakes
ethnicities and blinds, and what’s at stake…
far far from these IS what I wish to see
in better blends from light to dark roast kinds
I want to find in me the friend I want for mine
Sumatra to Park City possibilities
and sons in Italy
warm buttered toast
spreading calmly, softly
Like oil in and on my stomache
and salve and soothing ministered to skinned knees.
To Love in all its beauty is my journey
full flavored and emotional without duty.
Still it is fraught with fear and worry
Here, where money begs to buy…
It can not, nor can Fame provide nor
tension tame toward devotion
or a Godly name.
I canvas each and every face here in the Coffee House
and spaces mixed in conversation,
in faces bound to leisure, work,
from calm to hurt to animated
I see the study groups
the counseled, duped,
the college kids
the business types
the husbands, wives,
the bored, deprived,
Smooth faced, smooth legged,
and in between.
The middle age, the colored,
haired and hairless,
one hit wonders,
long, and longer yet,
drop out, boarders, burnt and fried,
the lonely, and ignored.
He happily brags lift tags through tears
now gets a lift himself
in back to work
a bus return to Salt Lake.
Cheers and drinks his Coke,
While those he serves are here too:
Clomp, clomp, clomping ski boots
like heavy wooden shoes,
back to back, hard chairing
head to head, they’re hairing
brush up against retired
Professors once respected, now too tired
are all professed, tenure expired
indebted and forgotten
Degrees and letters just can’t be sold or bought
except for coffee table coasters
all turned to coffee, distance, boxed up
fear of aging… and supplying
what they can not so easily give in intimacy,
Constructions since gone lost to heartsick and to dieing,
Some remedy, ward off in turning pages,
of James Monroe, in stretching tired wages,
saving sentimental, stiff spine dated novels,
the printed word on paper will someday also be forgotten
Permineralized in prenups and in living wills
Tandy lineups, last year’s laptops, this years notebooks
Smartphones, and social networks,
but I will not forget you.
Some other customers,
They’re not so nice rice
puffed up in their high price, puff down parkas
They’re tossed used napkins
alone and broken hearted
in memories, in crumbs ground into
wood and carpet
Next to the ski and bike shops
lift chairs, city bus stops, ski bums,
black diamond bound
All these, will see their day on crutches
ground slowly down
in lost and found, on cafeteria trays, in rubbish
the foolish, clueless. rich, and poor
religious shoppers, less and more
Each one will find their place……Reduced
to writing and to thinking old news
whisk, whisk, coffee rings, swig whiskey
whisk questionably away from risking
For now it’s Payday, Town Lift, play day,
and UP DOWN Old Town, Main Street.
Just for a moment though,
they pause, Salute in commandeering
Suds, soapy dishes in the sink
No one can pull rank here but greasy pots and pans
and butcher knives
We’re soaking for a feel good and a drink
for easier cleaning tips and Better Homes and Gardens
for scouring the moment if not for hours
awaiting sunny, fresh pack, Dawn,
and blue bird ski days
Such is the sight and plight of humans
Dish water and cold coffee will decide
Which life path will be chosen and get cold first?
Rehearsing winter verses, snowplow hearses
The Winter of the heart is cold and deep
without His Love to keep us warm.
But what is this? A miracle. His Grace.
His Love appears as children.
Yield to a row of ducklings on parade
Their feet are moving way too fast, in Vfib rate,
squalking, squeeling, crying, kneeling, playing
all webbed in wonder and big eyed
the tiny children on display
suspect they’ll fall down in the supervision
Big eyed….both they and we are in our eyeing
They bring a warm wind to adulthood’s winter chill
Until we’ve good luck and a better feeling
the others in the wagging tail soon bend to craning at them
and set aside sad thoughts of grief to joy in rum, pum, pumming
The Christmas child and children supersize the feeling
expand the season away from GETTING, more to GIVING
To instagramming, Meme-ing baby Jesus, fill the world
with joy…..they tote their crackers, cups and juicy juice
As purple laughter spills down short front sides and boots
and tiny, fuzzy winter scarves and coats are ruined… it’s no use
They rub their grubby little mittened hands
on cozy, wollen, beany caps, these kittens
the sippy cuppers, the tumbbling toddlers,
the interrupters of my naptime…stand simply…lovely….stained and blue spruce
Can’t help but laugh
in silencing my questioning…..of Who should be here napping?
My laugh contained, repsectfully, I smile a cheshire grin
and wish again, this irritance were more my happy folly
la, la, la, la…..I plug my ears, and close my eyes to
…..missing school and children too
While all, and both before behind the register resume
the work of social, bright and better businessing,
of pregnant ladies making beverages and welcome singing
Twirl with smiles, and memories of a Christmas past.
Reminded of those precious years I took for granted, and what we have now
In love’s more recent makings, recognitions, giving and taking.
How will they all remember me? The children? The coffee girls remember…
and say may name as if this were my home.
I feel each time as if I were that precious child of five years old.
And they are making cocoa just for me, and I am drooling chocolate donuts
I’m wanting to return again, again, to this good feeling and enactment
Attractions only Wendy, or a mother could perform
or ones I sometimes long for or pretend to know
in going back to coming happily home.
The snowy late day snowboarders give pulse to this
in forming drippy, sagging lines like sugared maccaroons
the frosted sugar cookie in a child’s sticky hand and mouth
a messy picture made by elves
We’re here…”Give us some coffee or a beer!”
all on display before the dayglass
all in a row with cookies, registers, and payrolls,
The workers keep the leisure pace, the happy face, the calm composure,
pumping mocca in hot coffee cups and taking orders
I’m chasing promises of company and Christmas borders
I’m licking chappy lips and watching happy chattering faces
I’m bubbling with laughter, with little care what’s taking place here
I’m wanting lots of whip cream
I’m careful not to wear out welcomes,
And never want to waste the beauty of this Fibonacci
the spiral syrup moment
sprinkled now on top with mini morsels,
she’s chipping and I’m tipping for these extra specials
I’m making make-believe my mustache in the mirror
in payment and in talk and walk away
I’m looking for the look of joy, discovery
or better yet….acceptance, Love.
In mirrors behind stirsticks, straws and stryro-cup-caps
No plastic plug pin Mermaid dip sticks here for that
no holding back the sweet, or rushing down, or rising blush
or movement on the scrimmage line
No hurrying in or out to rush, rush….feet, feet, feet….
to hurry up…..or penalty…delay of game…appologies for waiting…hm
I’m on the slow track. YES!
Im dialed in to… bradycardic slow feet, to long sit and warm seat
soft buttery caramel, this I am
in melting like molasses into lounging leather couches
from which I watch and write
to my delight
choreography of coffee!