She came back….

She said she came back for the people;
For the spontaneous visits of mammoth nosed neighbors,
Heavy accented, knit browed neighbors with bushy mustaches;
For the morning gatherings of women,
Where they drink their tart coffee
In mismatched cups surviving the years,
Only to flip their hopes on chipped saucers and wait…

In a gust of laughter and whispers,
One would take on the voice of a fortune teller
to unearth the maps of destiny in the rancid residue.

Under the patch of grapevines embracing a rusty pergola
— built for the entire building but annexed by the first floor tenants—
One would giggle upon hearing a coffee prophecy,
Others refer to the secrets of the night in a low voice loud enough to tease,
They burst into fits of laughter comparing how much did their beds rock their neighbor’s goodnight sleep.
They take turns in bragging about an extra minute of foreplay,
And argue whose husband is more satiating; humbling their role in a two way street.

She said she missed being the spinster in slacks
With white clipped nails and razor sharp hair,
She missed smiling when the women’s conversation chokes contrite
Eying her with unprecedented sorrow;
Like she had missed a train,
One that she never intended to catch,
And never knew its station.

The conversation would careen to the latest slimming potion,
The magic that would burn their insecurities and ignite fire
In their nightly companions.

She missed withholding a reminiscent smile,
Feeling the touch of desire on her blushing face,
The silk hands that worship her curves,
The husky voice of passion grinding against her full lips.

She missed being asked about her friend,
Often the bespectacled lady on the third floor
Would say its not too late, and two handsome jewels
Will step into their threshold and whisk them off from singledom.

She missed replying courteously that the friend is home
Down with flu,
Some days it would be a headache or chronic pain.
She’d thank them for their tips on making chamomile,
Exploiting cactus oil to their benefit or hanging a blue eye to fend away
The envy and magic.

She missed her promises after every meeting to never come back,
Her constant worries about the extra bed that one is to think it’s filled.

She came back to segregated parties filled with reassurances
That it’s not too late to hop on the metallic beast.
Grow your hair, powder those plump cheeks
More women with coffee visions spoke
Of a knight on his way; an amusing conviction of how
Woman is never whole without her man.

One she brushes off hours before the gathering
When she wakes up next to a sluggish figure hiding under the covers—
Escaping the morning light seeping through the curtains—
Exhausted and blessed, whole and complete, after a night
Of divine vulnerability away from trains, stations, and jewels…
For that… she came back.

Advertisement