The Every Day Cafe

-


Despite the empty seat

across the infinity of a quiet table,

I can hear you

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.

My food

delivered like an offering

sits -

still as a Thiebaud.

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.




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