Party Crasher

Knees knock.
I walk across a cobblestone square and
enter the side gate. There is false confidence
in the tilt of my chin. My fingers play
with the latch a fraction too long.
Only the fringe below the knee
shivers to betray.

A distance, an eternity, a second?
Another square of stone and ivy –
voices, laughter, mimicking fountains
a violinist at the table next, proffering a rose.
And here I am – uninvited – in your mind’s eye
the dapple of sunlight through a canopy of trees,
or the soft moss between a cobble,
a marigold nestled on your side plate.

Unsteady, I walk like a newborn colt that has
just found its legs, the world tilts you toward me.
I have arrived like the girl in a Bogart movie,
my fingers twist cloth at the table edge
and I wish to God I could take your order, but I’m
no waitress - my tongue tied into a knot of
cherry stems.

Your eyes full of quiet surprise,
the motion of your wrist mimics a maestro
taken aback by a sudden change in tempo,
motions me to sit. Symphonic composition
dissolves into the chaos of jazz,
chill of wrought iron against thigh,
dry reed against moist lips.
And even though I don’t, I do. I know every
language for a single word although
neither one will say it. Our knees touch.
Only a shiver at the table hem betrays.



notelvis aka Deb