Visitors
Diaphanous and Gossamer visited today,
you hardly noticed them, all the way from
England, and they looked around and read
and played and rested. Then they left.
And now the place is different somehow,
lighter, prettier, their whispers seem to
linger, there’s a freshness to them, yes,
it’s spring, I know, but still, I feel it.
Maybe they’ll come back, and maybe not,
I hope they do, but even if they don’t
I won’t forget today, I didn’t see them,
but I think I’d recognize them if we met.
They’re timeless.
r.e.s. 3.21.01
All Aboard
There are no weekends in the Coffeedrome,
no holidays, they mean it about ‘always open
never closed,’ they mean it about ‘food made
on the premises,’ the owners never ever take
vacations, there’s a job to do, they like it very
much, they live across the street above the
Oddly Common Bookstore and their home is
like the Coffeedrome itself, a light is always
on, the door’s unlocked, the smells are good.
Sometimes a break is healthy, but the owners
know their clientele would just as soon keep
going. They have made it here in stops and
starts and going-backs and giving-ups and
trying-one-more-times a hundred times, but
now they want to count on something being
good and staying good until their designated
Hiawatha comes, it may be Tuesday night or
maybe not, it may be Tuesday night next year.
So weekends at the Coffeedrome are just like
any other time, day one, the owners say, the
soup and bread are fresh, Lord knows how
many people come and go, it doesn’t matter,
everyone is comfortable, they eat, they read,
they listen to the music, sometimes someone
new is really funny and they laugh in ways
they haven’t laughed in years, and then a
hush. The train arrives, the names are called.
Bye Ed, bye Bess, bye Ashley.
r.e.s. 9.20.98
Just inside the Coffeedrome
there is a picture of a 12-year-old,
the first thing anybody sees, and
underneath, inscribed in brass,
the words ‘ It’s o.k., yes it is.’
The photograph is black and
white, the child’s eyes are softly
brown, as anyone can see, brown
hair as well, a rounded face, a
peaceful smile, a calm within.
And almost everybody asks
who is that, I have seen that
face before, I’ve seen those eyes
I know that smile, how come
there is no name, no date.
And no one seems to know
exactly why the photograph is
there, the owners say they
found it on the wall, right
where it is, when they moved in.
They’ve never even touched
it, it stays clean all by itself.
People often whisper to the
owners as they’re leaving
‘take good care of . . . over there.’
They give a name, the one
they’ve chosen for the child,
and every single time it is the
name that they themselves were
called when they were 12 as well.
You can’t make these things up.
r.e.s 8.28.98
 |
Terraplane
They climbed into the Terraplane,
I watched. Daddy, Mr. Sheridan,
Molly, Bobbi, Bobby (boy-girl twins)
a carfull if there ever was one, they
were heading west, I think, although
it’s immaterial, direction, west is just
a metaphor for new or death or being
free or never coming back, that car
will never make it both ways, yes
they built them strong, but that was
nineteen thirty-six (that’s when they
built the thirty-sevens), finding parts
to fit that car today, well, let’s just
hope the whole thing stays together
till they get to where they’re going, it’s
been Jiffylubed, the brakes are good.
Molly drove, as usual, Daddy in the
back seat with his wrenches and his
books, the twins asleep (they’re saving
up for something), from the navigator’s
seat he liked to call it Mr. Sheridan
gave directions, he had maps, he had
a Lincoln Highway guidebook from
the 20’s, he’d been down these roads
before, he liked to think he knew the
way, and yes, perhaps he did, but even
he got sleepy, dozing off and letting
Molly handle it herself, she didn’t
mind, in fact she liked to drive, she
knew she was in charge no matter who
was navigating, who was sleeping, who
was off in let’s-pretend-land, writing.
In Duluth, uh huh Duluth, she said
let’s stop for food, here this looks
nice, the Coffeedrome, I like the name.
r.e.s. 10.27.98
