Thursday, August 11, 2011

The Café

Today I went out for coffee with Emma, an old friend of mine. My current friends are simply stale, not doing anything for me. In our conversation, she allowed me to have a sort of detachment from my current self, as I explained everything. She knows only the past me. Still, I have to pretend to still be filled by the current friendships I have. To that end, I must write that Eggers piece with Lester. Again, as a transitory piece of writing, I have written this poem about the in-between time of each of the circumstances with Anna and with Emma as I waited for Emma at the cafe. I think I'll try my hand at a sestina next.

A Café

As I sit in a twisted black metal chair
with a cup of Double Mexican Mocha
outside the café in the summer’s morning breeze,
I pull on a gray sweatshirt to hide a shiver
an hour after the discussion
discovering how we went wrong

Alone, except surrounded by various-sized dogs
tied to signposts and hydrants
who stare at me with blank eyes
no indication of whether they’d bite
if I tried to pet them

Alone, I feel like myself
for the first time in weeks

I wait for a friend I haven’t seen in years
as I listen to Tchaikovsky through big headphones
and wonder if she will remind me
of who I am or who I was
(or none of the above—

But mostly I think about
what will change after the discussion
If, in the naming of things
we can be renewed