The cafe

A lady greets us from behind the counter,

With nothing but open arms and a subtle smile.

She speaks no words, she has no need to.

Her eyes shine bright, bursting with excitement.

As if to invite us further in

As if to say:

Here I am.

Take a look.

These shelves speak for me,

For those before me,

And for those after me.

Let the carven whales speak for the voyages past.

Let the cracked and torn pieces of yesterday tell you why I am here today.

For these polished cups hold the touch of those before, 

And in pouring in this unfamiliar elixir,

I have a conversation with its makers.

My fingers brush the remnants of theirs,

I show them how far I’ve come,

Sharing with them a piece of the new world

They fought so hard to give me a place in.

So let them tell you who I am.

We admire an ornate oak door, with a cafe on one end,

And a room of culture and identity on the other end.

The smell of spices and old books brings us face to face with new faces.

Unfamiliar, but with open arms and bright eyes.

They invite us to listen to their stories and live their lives.

We step through the door.