River House Home - Refrigerator
"And Still the World Waits " by Laura Havice
And Still the World Waits
I sit here, in the bent brass of an old café, inhaling the sins of another’s cigarette and thinking of you. The world pirouettes in perfect balance. The coffee straws stir. In. Out. In, out. Yes, please. Thank you.
Have you found a café equally unassuming? Do you drink creamed coffee a touch too sweet? Do you?
In. The steel. The glass. The there. The here. It is 17 steps to the register then 5 to the place where lattes find their owners. It is 31 steps to my car, 1.3 miles to my front door, 41.7 miles to the State line, 1213 miles to your front door. The equations and conversions of miles to minutes, of minutes to breaths, work in the corner of my mind. What is the exchange rate of these transactions?
Out. The barometer swings, I drink the thick breezes. A new chair opens I’m drawn to the cushions and a different view, but instead I cross my legs, letting my knees catch.
I think of you, shifting again, trying to find comfort in new chairs. Do you like the view?
A woman laughs and a man in a dark pea-coat smiles. Their eyes meet for a momentbut then her coffee arrives. She leaves with one backward glance. He leaves two heartbeats later, the gold glinting on his hand as he swings the door wide.
In. Out. Dry heat meets the colda flurry of dark clouds speckle the ceiling tiles. A myriad of replayed minutes mingle on the bitter air and I finger the ones I fancy. Once inviting, the chair presses iron into my spine and I shift, my body, my eyes. Soon the rain will fall.
A tapestry lay between, I pull an errant thread. If I pull hard enough could I find you?
Once we coalesced in poetry, caught glances in our mouths, captured fingertips, collected facets of the other, cradled sunsets in our sleep, carved whispered wants – careful of the edges… Once.
I drink the coffee, let the darkness fill me. The cardboard cupped between my palms, my fingers reaching. Each sip brings me closer to.