tears

In Ashley’s Harvest Moon Café on a Wednesday morn, it happens to be St. Patrick’s Day, 2021. Drip coffee, refillable for free, and a coconut chocolate chip muffin warmed just right, starts my time of labor here instead of at home. I don’t thrive being alone.

I observe. People watching, one of my favorite pastimes, has desperately been denied. A plethora of people right before my eyes!

There’s a man with a cap that speaks of a sailor past; his silver crown hides his story. In the soft chair he reads for a few hours and leaves; I’ve not seen a soul speak with him.

In Ashley’s Harvest Moon Café on a Wednesday morn, it happens to be St. Patrick’s Day, 2021. Drip coffee, refillable for free, and a coconut chocolate chip muffin warmed just right, starts my time of labor here instead of at home. I don’t thrive being alone.

I observe. People watching, one of my favorite pastimes, has drastically been denied. A plethora of people right before my eyes!

There’s a man with a cap that speaks of a sailor's past; his silver crown hides his story. In the soft chair he reads for a few hours and leaves. I’ve not seen a soul speak with him.

"Laura."

Hearing my mother say my name, unexpectedly brought tears to my eyes.

Hearing my name, not Sweet, or some other euphemism.