Peekaboo

It is noisy, the rattle of strangers’ conversations all around me.
If I bothered, I could hear more of them
than any of the patrons would imagine. More
lurid, political, family drama, empty headed conversations,
a ghost-rattling of life stories, with loud ghosts,
fried eggs and omelets, and of course coffee.

It is noisy here, but you barely hear. It is the first day of rest
after a long few weeks. I am back to myself,
listening inward, not outward, back to allowing the feelings
that play peekaboo when life is busy, always changing costumes
while distracted with noise, with activity,
with the cursed hows of life, exchanging them for the whys,

for those elusive emotions so well trained to live
in the background, to be quiet, not heard.
It has been a slow journey to even be able to have the patience
to listen, like waiting for an aged parent to walk,
to arrive. Worth the effort of waiting, but still,
waiting.

It is worth the effort, the waiting, the patience with myself.
My feelings, when they arrive are a miracle,
deeper, richer than you were allowed as a child,
than by others who valued my stoic demeanor,
the same face you wear here in the noisy diner
as you let the emotions, finally, with time,
creep out of their hidey holes, and come dance.

And that is where I am. Dancing with myself
while people eat their toast and laugh and kvetch.

About this poem

It has been a busy few weeks, with my life more scheduled than normal. I have not had my time to sit and ponder and write. Since poetry is more my therapy than anything else, that’s not a good thing. But today, I am able to sit at the table, let the world and its noise fade. It is funny how much can happen in one’s head and heart without the world around us seeing.

The picture was taken at the Blue Benn diner in Bennington, VT. Famous in these parts.

Tom