Sunday, May 1, 2011


She didn't call. I saw a light refracting in a glass half full. I could distract myself with disappointment or burn this alcohol in a lamp and write.

My ink spilled a bit, dripping off the table, directing me to look elsewhere for inspiration. At two o'clock, a Cinderella relinquishes hard labour for a short time. Perhaps to meet a writer in his solitude.

I've seen a stone faced barista soften with easy, patient chatter. "Why do you care about my final exams." She says, espresso shots fall. I let the query linger, form its own conclusions, let the seed of curiosity grow.

Let it steam, questions without answers foam in the mind about this caring, well dress regular. Stir in a little politics and some compliments on simple braids and curls.

Can't grow attached to any potential cup of latte. The constant waiting in line or unrequited advances, enamors you to the process. To sip is not as important as that act of treasuring the taste.

Photo: To go cup taken with iPhone3Gs, Hipstamatic app (Salvador 84, Pistil, Cherry Shine)