Coffee Writing - A monologue

I’m inside looking out 

One eye on the birds

Jittery sitting here

summoning words

Am I doomed to just stutter 

as we mutter along

Will I ever hear yes 

professed loud and strong

Yesterday at the cafe 

as I always am

I was aiming for Bogart 

but achieving pure ham

We are both wrapped up 

in our Covid masking

But even six feet away 

Am I up to this tasking

Time to give her my name

I grumble lowly and slowly

Each encounter I found her 

my barista most holy

Yeah I wasn’t much better 

before hiding my lips

Still too shy to stand upright

cold cocking my hips

Staring down at my phone 

so I don’t freak her out

Try to be cool while 

my voice wants to shout

She wrote my name here on the side of my cup

My heart’s on that sleeve

and I will not give up

Now I’m hatching a plan 

while watching that bird

Each day I will give her a new little word

One a day 

or each time that I lean on her bar

I’ll say to her “present” or “waiting” or “star”

Knitted together they’ll make her a quilt

A blanket of cardboard lovingly built

Then somehow she will see me and hear my sad suit

My arrow will strike her 

if my cupid can shoot

Today squeaked out “deep” when she wanted my name

Tried raising an eyebrow to show her some game

Does she not see my wry smile 

twinkling out while I wait?

Nope

Drop another few crumbs on this plate

So I messed up 

Just get dressed up and try over again

Willing her fingers to lift off of that pen

And trace my whole name with her nails on my chest

Or maybe to push me to give up this quest

Then she hands me my cup 

without saying my word

Each hiss of the steamer 

makes me feel more absurd

Inside of my window things seem so much safer

Little birds picking seeds turning worm into wafer

Blessed by my hand they can ride out this winter

While I pour more words past the birds to my printer

Crafting each letter to form something magnetic

Creating polarity hyperpoetic

No I’m not giving up - I am back on my app

Try to order up love with a tip of my capp

February 2021

Nobody Needs to Hear That

(A middle-aged woman in prison scrubs is sitting at a table in the visitors room. She is talking to her lawyer who has just asked for her written contrition to help plead her case.)

I will tell you exactly why I won’t write that letter. It’s like I told the evening news guy, “The thing about saying sorry is nobody needs to hear it.“

Janet, most of my life has been an open-ended apology. Hell, I apologized laid out on the table while I gave birth. Between the ice chips, I was gasping out, "sorry for this. Sorry for the trouble." Excuses between pushes–I felt so embarrassed. Maybe my mom did the same thing, I don’t know. 

But this time I’m not sorry. I know I did the right thing. Mrs. Connor forgave me. Maybe they all forgave me. And without redemption this world would have too many buildings in it.

And they can’t blame me for lighting the fire because I never set a fuse. Yes, tossed a cigarette into a few soaked newspapers. That is not the same thing. Not to be pedantic or anything, but arson is premeditated and I barely even thought about this. Not before the test anyway.

Ask one of them. They all hated that building. The desks were tiny and all shoved together and nobody really had a window. Stifling. The constant hum of fluorescent tube lighting. Who wants to work in a DMV?

You know, I wasn’t sure it would take at first. Fires are funny like that. But once it did really start going–alarms and people running out–I saw her. Mrs Connor, the tired lady with the pink cardigan, carrying her papers out under her arm. She looked over and she smiled right at me. Did you see her? I knew right then that she forgave me.

Admit it. It was a mercy. None of them wanted to work there anymore. I could tell because of the way they parked that morning. Not lined up perpendicular but kind of, well, haphazard. Nobody was driving into that lot with intent. 

Nobody except for me. I did. I parked excruciatingly well when I came for my test. But they failed me anyway. So I won’t write that letter. Nobody needs to hear that.

September 2023