Sonnet In-Sanity

I started to write a story about showers (I say 'story' because I've become allergic to the word 'blog'). I remembered something: while in the shower, I had thought about a man who wrote all his letters in verse. So instead I wrote a sonnet. I'll write about showers later. And about the man who wrote in verse. Later.

So now the sonnet, about a waitress watching people in a café.


WAITRESS AWAITS


I stare: one couple (table two), young, mute

A crag of silence scarring the café

Above the music (now, Jacqueline du Pré)

Their courtship plays an underwater flute.

Hands trace enchanted words, eyelashes sing,

Loud fingers weave a sonnet made of air

The light between them - bright embroidered flare...

I long to soar like that, all eye and wing...

But wait! Deep in my chest a claw of fear:

that silence would undo us, leaving just

your piano, angry army with no spear;

your lips, clever calligraphy of lust...

then your good bye. I sigh. I turn my head,

I stare at table seventeen instead.