Chance Meeting Over Coffee by Marlen Komar (Poem#8)

Chance Meeting Over Coffee

by Marlen Komar

And I have this one coffee shop I go to, a couple of blocks from my apartment. The lights inside are as warm as the din of chatter from people bent over chapter books, quietly trading papers as they murmur about future Sundays. Coats hug the backs of chairs and a few mittens lay discarded under tables, hopefully not forgotten. But I, I always keep my coat on.

I hold my cup with both hands, watching the dust dance in the rays of light breaking onto my table. I look up and you approach me, as I thought you would, eventually.

“I think we’ve met before.” “I think you’re right.”

“You always put my coffee mugs back on the wrong shelf, if I remember right.”

“And stain the rims with berry reds from my lips.”

“That part I didn’t mind all that much.”

I smiled.

“I think one time I fell asleep on your shoulder, with my feet over yours on the coffee table.”

‘You were wearing my wool socks.”

“You might be right.” I shifted in my chair, trying to fight the urge to look out the window. “I think I used to sit on windowsills, keeping the afternoon company; eating strawberries and thinking of you.” I crossed my feet at the ankles, looked up at you. “That probably sounds silly.”

“I’m not sure why,” you said slowly, weighing your words, “but for whatever reason I think I remember how your eyes looked at one o’clock, when the night was not yet ready for morning to come.”

“That’s a peculiar thing to say.”

“Yea you’re right.” You paused. Then continued.

“Were you the one that used to use hardcover books as coasters? And put rosemary in vases like flowers?” You smiled, trying to place the girl. “Wait, was it you that danced with me in the kitchen? To the sound of the dishwasher running and the color draining from the sky?”

“It might have been. Maybe?”

“Maybe.”

“Well…”

“Well. I should be going then. Maybe sometime later we’ll see each other again. Things might be different. I’m sure it’ll come to me how I know you.”

“You know how these things are.”
You waved goodbye with your paper, and I watched your back leave the shop. Funny, how some strangers were once apart of your life.

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