narrative from the coffee shop

narrative from the coffee shop

A Poem by m.s.early

I'm exhausted; no sleep. 
Two hours last night.

So I made myself put work down and go out. 
I'm at the coffee house, 
having a fish taco, 
people watching, 
listening to a violin whine in an old timey mountain song. 

The sun is just coming out. It's been raining all morning. 
I find myself needing to adjust from something. 
Unsure what it is, 
but excited about it. 

Gillian Welch just came on the speakers in the coffee shop. 
If you've never heard of her, 
listen to Red Clay Halo. 
If you ever really really want to know me, 
ask me for a playlist 
and I'll send you the soundtrack of my moment. 

Have you ever been so excited to get to the next moment 
that the current moment is nearly unbearable? 
I'd feel like that if I weren't so damned tired. 

I miss not having a lover, but there's no one attractive to me 
at the moment. 
And that's a shame. 
I enjoy noticing the beauty of a woman. 
I enjoy relishing in the attention of a beautiful woman. 
There are no beautiful women 
in the coffee house 
this morning. 
Beautiful in their own way, 
but not my way. 
And that’s just not good enough 
today.

I want a woman that I can look at and think, 
I couldn't possibly want anything more. 
And I want to be proud of her. 
I want other people to see her and think, 
he couldn't possibly want anything more... 
he's so lucky... 
how'd he pull that off? 
But inside their heart, 
they'll know. 
And if they're brave enough 
to ask me, 
I'll answer... 
"grace".

I'm still hungry. 
The fish taco is gone. 
But the coffee's still hot. 

There's a mouth gaped woman, 
too old and too skinny 
shocked at something on her laptop. 
A rich white woman with her daughter. 
Both spoiled and entitled. 

Short pudgy waitress with a pony tail. 
An elderly couple with their teenage granddaughter 
(she has terrible posture). 

A middle aged catholic couple 
drawing a crucifix on their chest 
before and after 
saying grace. 
How beautiful. 
I wish I had someone saying grace with me. 

Sometimes I think I'm beautiful. 
Occasionally I even like what I write. 

I grapple with the limitation of my voice 
sometimes, 
but for the most part I sing along with myself 
in two part harmony 
and mentally select which friend should fill in on third. 

College coeds decorate the sidewalk. 
A girl is humming "What a Wonderful World", 
strained soprano, 
beside me. 

Geriatric men in windbreakers order coffee and doughnuts. 
I miss my grandfather. 

I took my daughters and their friend to see Muana. 
It made me cry. 
I miss my Cherokee 
grandmother so much. 
I haven't missed her this much 
in a long time. 

A fat bottomed girl 
is making the rocking world go ‘round 
while standing in line. 

I think I'd be more comfortable on the couch 
by the street window,
but I don't want to draw attention 
by walking over there. 

Coffee is still half full. 

Afternoon lunch crowd thickens. 

A professor I know strolls in 
beaming and smiling. 
She's an atheist. 
Her husband is a phenomenal jazz pianist 
and brilliant mathematician. 
Also atheist. 

The line is wrapping around the counter. 

A cute thirty something, 
sunglasses on short, 
cropped, dyed blond hair. 
Seems to know a pale faced yoga pants with no make up. 
Looks great in jeans, 
but I can't see her light. 
Maybe she doesn't have one. 

The line is dying down. 
The coffee is barely warm. 
A guy I use to work with comes in with his daughter. 
I hope he doesn't recognize me. 
I'm too tired 
to tell him about the new job. 

Maybe I'll check out the window displays on Main St. 
I need a new belt.

Or visit the cemetery 
where my paternal grandparents are buried. 
I’m close enough.
There’s a shopping center across the road there.
I’m trying to remember what the town looked like while they were still alive. 

There was a Winn-Dixie there, 
and none of the houses behind it 
were there. 
That was 1994. 
Grandma Gertrude is right at the feet of her mother 
Della May, 
affectionately called ma-ma, 
or Ma-Ma Mitchell. 

That time is gone. 
The sounds are gone. 
The smells are gone. 
As much I'd like to miss those times, 
I've got to spend 
my time building 
my daughters' tomorrow. 
And for that task, 
there's no time like the present.

m.s.early
12/27/2016


© 2016 m.s.early



Author's Note

m.s.early
The captcha was womanish

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Featured Review

The mention of the rain and the coffee shop made me wish I were there. You have quite the eye for detail. I could almost smell the coffee, and feel the swift chill of the rain as the merchants filed in through the opening and closing of the door. It's poetry like this I am drawn to, like a moth to a flame.

We share a love for grandmothers who were very instrumental in our lives. It's a wonderful feeling to feel that grounded and loved by another so deeply, that everything else in contrast, just seems to fall short.

Thank you, Matthew, for writing this and sending it my way. All I need now is another cup of coffee!

Posted 11 Months Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.




Reviews

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This made me sigh...beautiful transcending poetry, thick and rich with atmosphere and mood. I recently finished 5 years of uni and spent many a day at one of the campus coffee shops, not studying ;) day dreaming/people watching. But what a gorgeous close. Starz x

PS. love the captcha...lol

Posted 11 Months Ago


I did enjoy the poetry and story in the words. I liked the coffee shops. Watching people is entertaining. I liked the description of place and people. Thank you my friend for sharing the excellent poetry. I hope you and family are enjoying the holidays.
Coyote

Posted 11 Months Ago


you put me there...and gave me so many memories of my coffee house days...in college studying..wanting to be with the woman everyone else would like to be with...

but being by myself people watching...putting myself in their shoes and ending up being quite happy being who i am...waiting for the next moment...hoping something would happen....some something...would happen.

j.

Posted 11 Months Ago


The mention of the rain and the coffee shop made me wish I were there. You have quite the eye for detail. I could almost smell the coffee, and feel the swift chill of the rain as the merchants filed in through the opening and closing of the door. It's poetry like this I am drawn to, like a moth to a flame.

We share a love for grandmothers who were very instrumental in our lives. It's a wonderful feeling to feel that grounded and loved by another so deeply, that everything else in contrast, just seems to fall short.

Thank you, Matthew, for writing this and sending it my way. All I need now is another cup of coffee!

Posted 11 Months Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

Funny captcha...pertains...never unsatisfied...always wanting....MORE MORE MORE (In the very best mad scientist poet woman voice, I can muster from my weakened state😆)

Posted 11 Months Ago



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Added on December 27, 2016
Last Updated on December 27, 2016

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m.s.early
m.s.early

VA



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I live in a backwoods bumpkin area with crazy white people that drink and cuss too much while performing regular maintenance on John Deere and Kabota tractors. Plows as sharp as scimitars slice the gr.. more..

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