Its name etched lightly into
the support pillar in front
high sideways across vision
but barely visible from
the distraction of intensely
azure blue cut irises.
The serving bar two large windows
behind and a large glass pitcher
filled with what looks
like the sea so much
mint roots lemons oranges
light does not penetrate.
Out the doors where there are
no doors across the expansive
stairwell down to outside
I can still see the obelisk hanging
traversing its internal room
back forth yet up down.
But behind is a long table
surrounded by twelve
count them twelve older
beautiful women almost all
in whites and blacks
and one younger man,
he is holding their attention,
no, they are mesmerized.
I sip rich bitterness and
perfectly airy milk mixing
briefly on my tongue,
long enough to recall when
we found unexpectedly
this café late in that day
just before the museum
closed and kicked us
back onto evening streets
of Amsterdam.
Edward Garvey began writing fiction, drama, and poetry in high school and started college as a creative writing major at San Francisco State University. After a short 45-year diversion into the beauty and mysteries of science, he is back to writing full-time.
