The Every Day Cafe
The Every Day Cafe Despite the empty seat across the infinity of a quiet table, your voice can be heard above the chatter and clatter of the everyday cafe. As Sinatra sings, “all the way” from the piped-in great beyond your hand journeys past the tiny civilizations of sugar and salt to claim mine in the name of the forgotten moon. My food delivered like an offering sits still as a Thiebaud portrait I close my eyes to go to where you live now And watch moments spin by in a swirl of creams, golds and soft pastels like the Carousel de Saint Pierre whose horses all tell a different tale Some rear. Some gallop. Just like we did when you said I love you too for the very last time.