narrative from the coffee shop

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

Author's Note

The captcha was womanish

Reviews

[Kelly Scheppers]

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!

[Emily B]

a wonderful song to read on a cold day

thank you for sharing this

[...]

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

[Coyote Poetry]

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

[jacob erin-cilberto]

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.

[Gypsy Warrior Queen]

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😆)