Tea Time

From window high above the square, I view the world from pied-̀a-terre

Below my sill, a café scene, as waiters wipe their tables clean.

A woman sits with milk and tea, her head and back are all I see

Her visage hidden by chapeau, her thoughts this day I wished to know.

Shoulders draped with gathered cape, short cropped hair that showed her nape

Pleated skirt that hung mid-shin, feet in flats and ankles thin.

Delicate hands hold cup to lips, steamy wisp from small first sips

She sets cup down and sits erect, my thoughts intrigued, my eyes inspect.

Her gaze seems fixed, across the street, perhaps someone she’s set to meet

But no, it’s just a wistful stare, no waving friend is standing there.

Eyes cast down, lap cradling hands, she turns towards the flower stands

The vendors hawk their colored wares, their faces show unseeing stares.

She turns to show a visage meek, a slight rose blush upon her cheek

Her mouth, no Mona Lisa grin, her lips pursed tight above her chin.

Her eyes are red from weeping tears, compounding all my inner fears

I clutch the drape, my heart beats fast; what troubles her within her past?

A meeting which was left unmet, or maybe death of favorite pet?

Her face is filled with sadness, is it sorrow, is it grief; the truth of her reality, my mind’s only relief.

Last sip of tea, the cup set down, her napkin blots a tear; I race through doorway, down the stairs in hopes my mind to clear.

My rush seemed an eternity, I stepped into café scene, the woman’s table empty, it’s as though she’d never been.

I looked about the terrace towards the many peopled street, no glimpse of hat or gathered cape, my anguish now complete.

But looking at the table where she sat and drank her tea, I spied a note on napkin that was surely left for me.

“I saw you in the window when my thoughts had made me cry; you looked so sympathetic, yet reserved and kind of shy.”

One small last bit she jotted down and signed initial “D”, “Perhaps we best not think of things we know will never be.”

I gathered up the cryptic note, returning to my room, and laying on my bed I sought to fight back mindful gloom.

I must have drifted quickly into dreams distorted lair, for there across the table was the woman in the chair.

Her face was still unclear to me, her features blurred and soft, yet still I was quite certain I had seen her from my loft.

My mind felt dizzy, reeling, as the scene turned into smoke, and suddenly eyes opened wide quite shocked as I awoke.

I found myself beside the drape with café scene below, my gaze on woman sipping tea whose thoughts I didn’t know.

By James Geehring

From: United States

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