"Empty Cafes...: The Cafe Series - Life as we live it.

We still have our windows.

In time for 25 December, 2020

 

“The Cafe` - Life As We Live It - series"

 

“Empty Cafés…”

 

Is cold, today.  The sidewalks - empty.

Streets - debris laden

  With rustling wind-swept echoes

  of life now missing and so long missed

  that even tears no longer stain the asphalt ways.

Even our ghosts wander our souls.

 

Tis the season of ethereal, ephemeral music;

  scents more of memories than reality;

  visions that shimmer, waft, and whisper beyond our weary,

  perhaps even …rheumy… eyed view.

 

A season echoing “could haves”

and “should haves”

and the wishes of ageless children

hiding in plain sight as the adults they seldom willingly are.

 

‘Tis the season of

  held breath

  desperate Hope

  and the ever all-filled silence…

  as time passes us by

  each as alone with our thoughts

  as only a person can be

  who knows their dark so well.

 

“I…have…sung…with…symphonies,

and watched a kitten cry;

walked…castle…battlements,

seen nightmares come to life.

Wandered places that aren’t anymore -

though to me they are never less.

And miss moments I can’t share

and relive thens where bits of me …die.”

 

“I still see

trees all make-believe -

empty spaces glossed over by dreams

within our minds.

I see mom so drawn by life

and all her hard

that she cried cause

…well, she was mom,

so ya already know.”

 

I watched haves slight nots,

said things I shouldn’t,

was snarky - cause I could,

and always wondered of the “whys”…

 

This year, this time, THIS now -

perhaps we earned it…

              or

perhaps it was a gift -

a night’s tear to be treasured

…our Ghost of Christmas - all the “Future”

as come to pass

after our bit of beouf ‘n gravy -

our moment’s self-indulgence

come home to snuggle within our …conscience…

‘til we made it so.

 

My cup runneth over

and Mary’s ghost has faded beyond my sight…

 

“Merry Christmas to all

And to all a goodnight.”

 

Chris

 

The final words weren’t mine alone - though I really don’t remember whom to attribute them to… BUT, they really did fit and are what I said aloud as I read this before posting.

Author's Note

feel free

Reviews

[emmajoy]

You sir, are the writer's poet, thinker and all. This magic of yours is sad as sad can be but has life throbbing determinedly throughout its magic and misfit as if ~ come what may, life lingers and always will, whatever its outer skin.

Magical, miserable and GLORIOUS, dear Chris.

Wishing you the glory of another Christmas day, whatever, wherever, it be yours. Hugs.

[Chris]

A soft kiss and a hug... you leave light and life in your wake, and dreams as well. Merry Christmas Lass and all the best wishes for your next year as well.

[emmajoy]

Thank YOU for everything, dear Chris, Can but leave you the magic of dreams past and dreams to come.. ..

[Delmar Cooper]

There's the Hopper painting, "Nighthawks." Not a Christmas painting except in it's aloneness. There is a time at Christmas, a minute or two that no matter how many are around you, you are all alone. I feel this in your poem as I do in Hopper's painting.

[Chris]

I know that Diner - first hand, personal, and up-close and hundreds like it where I've shared early morns and "knowing" conversations with the children-of-the-night ...round the world. Trust is never given, it's always earned.