I feel as if

I feel as if

you will walk down rain-slicked streets

and stumble upon some little cafè

its lights wavering in the rain

and you’ll think

what a place to be

and wander towards it

your hands in your jacket pockets

your curls a bit wild in the rain

and tumble through the door

(pretend you didn’t trip

on the step between the

sidewalk and the door)

order a flat white

sit at the corner table

eyes glazed

thinking about the woman

you left in her bed

that morning

realizing

you forgot your newspaper there

and now you have nothing to read

 

so you’ll look out

watch the

blue night bleeding

into buildings

imagine the newspaper

weighed down

beaten

by rain

soaked and clinging

to the sidewalk

until it has become

dust

to the soles of

the city

 

the café’s

yellow and red walls

compete at the corners

pictures are mismatched

an old man at his

favorite booth

frowns at nothing

in particular

 

and then

you’ll see me there

hair over one side of my face

as always

birthmark above my lip

laughing at something

and you’ll think

oh wow

didn’t I

love her once?

 

by Danielle Fusaro

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