I see him outlined against the window in a busy café— his wool hat on the table beside a muffin and a cup of tea— a portrait from a bygone era and a study in longevity. He barely moves except to sip his tea. I walk up to say hello— he looks up and smiles, his teeth a shining white— they might be false but who cares? I catch the morning sun’s rays in his eyes; they cannot lie nor fake their light. We talk— it is so easy to converse, to steep in his cup, a rich brew he stirs slowly and thoughtfully— I wait in no hurry to leave. © Neetu Malik
-
crow flies overhead
I hear pandemonium -
last night’s hurricane blew the roof off
pieces of felt lay on the street like bits of rubber tires -
She needs to dig deep
to pull the roots
that grow under her feet
to do so requires strength -
my room
a sanctuary
at the end of the day -
It must have been
a stormy night
when love flew out the window
of my vacant roomlike a feather
from a molting bird.
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Hi Neetu, How tender; sad but also sweet.
Thank you, Veronica. The gentleman who inspired this had a certain light and quiet power which touched me deeply, fleeting though my brief interaction with him was.