Approaching the Heart

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APPROACHING THE HEART


Difficult to find a table

in this crowded coffee shop, 

one with a little elbow room 

in a back corner where you can 

detach yourself for a minute

to watch what’s going on with an eye 

clear as a cool glass of water. 


This place is the hot spot

among varied clientele, and if the baristas 

are a bit, well, eccentric, 

and the chatter a tad loud, 

it’s an interesting crowd

and the place has a pulse to it. 


You’re here to discover who you are

and what you want, which is a tall

task of itself, an even bigger ask

given that all the tables 

are full and mid-conversation about

nothing, save for a single chair 

across from a face 

that stirs in you a bubbling

ache of remembrance, 

like seeing a childhood friend

for the first time in twenty years

or hearing your own voice

played back in a recording.


He nods, inviting you to join

him, and try as you might to look

away the invitation stands, stares,

like the homeless man at a red light.

It's like he knows something.

Almost as if he's been waiting

for someone as lost as you,

the cup cradled in his hands.


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