just another face

It means more than it ever has, to sit in a cafe, alone.
Different than a break, time for myself,
or a moment to straighten out my sidewaysness.
I’m not tilted, it’s all one motion; their table-top voices
colliding with electric guitar, meeting my thoughts
at an angle altogether connected. I’m not on a time-out
or a time-in. I’m here a solo-me the same as I was there
being mother, daughter, wife, Head Organizer of countertops
needing to go singly for the first time in a month.
It gets to be that long when you are in the middle,
loved like crazy, needed, and the one meant to answer duty,
measured breathing a manner of staying present,
remembering the lonely, hungry, war-ravaged families,
so bowing in gratitude before my image of them,
taking nothing for granted, appreciating that I can
fold the laundry, remake the beds, wash
a day’s worth of dishes again, but waiting,
waiting gently, for the needed quiet of anonymity.

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