Beautiful Things
Wandering in my emotional wilderness
Growing trees from seeds of doubt
Growing moss from the dampness of my resolute solitude,
I will go to some dive
Sit in a booth with cracked green upholstery
Order a coffee from one of those waitresses
With Mother-Goddess-Nirvana
In the pink of her cheeks and the glint in her eyes.
I will pour cream in my coffee and watch it explode
A mystic’s map
A rorschach test.
I will drink and cough and play with the hole in my jeans.
I will look at the booth across from me
An ancient man with skinny limbs and wrinkles like Bible passages
Like the Rosetta Stone
Like shafts of sunlight through clouds pregnant with rain
His quivering hand clasping an ancient woman’s
With milky eyes and an orange lipstick grin.
I will stare at them.
They will not speak a word to each other
Because they do not need to
Because together in this mocking child’s game
This passing of time
Their glances became oceans.
Their caresses became nations.
Together they are the most noble truth
Together they are poetry.
So I will stare at them.
Tears will race down my cheeks like electric thoughts
And I will believe in beautiful things again.
