‘girl writer en café’

Photographer - Tobi Brun

girl writer en café

She had eyes like mossy tree bark
that looked at me just once
but I saw the forest of her soul through the trees of her eyes,
My unworthy gaze met hers for the first and only time
And in that moment (I admit) my heart reached for the sun,
She went back to writing in her small notepad
at the table next to mine,
Her rimless glasses bending low to the paper
as she wrote shorthand,
What could she be writing?
I wish I had the courage to ask
but since my youth had been shy and yellow bellied
and will forever never know,
All I have is her short dark hair,
small silver hoop earrings,
Small-chested pink t-shirt
and white platform converse
meeting at the end of a long denim skirt,
My coffee got cold beside my neglected computer
as I snuck glances her writing-preoccupied way,
Hemingway’s A Moveable Feast mere words on a page
with no story or concept
as I struggled to not soak her presence in like a sponge
but failed miserably,
She stood to leave and my sunny heart eclipsed,
When she was gone I could still aftertaste her lingering memory,
But I could finally focus on my work
and begin to wring out the sponge
onto this page.'

Jacque Margaux is a Franco-American writer and hopeless romantic with a sensitive piscine soul. His poetry is his therapy. To cope with the loss of all those who he fears to approach, he writes poetry about them. He nurses his broken heart in Upstate New York. Some of his work may be found on the Instagram page of his close acquaintance, @notrileycreative.