Friday, March 14, 2008

Coffee Shop Courier 3.14.08

Friday March 14, 2008

Rebekka hummed as she prepared for another day of customer community and wonderful pointless banter. Looking around, one could easily see that there was a system to her morning. She was the opener and, as the title suggests, she was responsible for the day's beginning. She was the stage-setter, the set-designer, the mood-regulator. Rebekka was the creator in these moments. There was no hint of frustration; no beads of sweat turning into salt wrinkles on her brow. Nope. This was her time and she defended it with the upturned corners of her mouth and the good vibrations pouncing out of her rosy cheeks.

It was into this warm something that I walked at 6:45 am. “Good morning Miss Rebekka”. “Goot Mornin’”, she replied with her bubbly German lilt. “It seems that you have gotten most everything already done for the day and you still have ten minutes to spare. Can I do anything for you?” She stood with her head cocked to the side for a quick minute. She looked like one of those oddly beautiful cartoon characters in a Disney movie; maybe a wide-eyed puppy from Lady and the Tramp or some winsome friend of a syrup-voiced princess. “Sur, I habn’t gotten to da refilling da copfee yet”, she said thoughtfully. There was something in her reply that was inviting and full of encouragement and trust. I felt like I had been invited into the fun! “Great, I would love to fill those for you”. And that’s what I did. At 6:50 am, I stood cheerfully behind the light oak counter with the squishy mats underneath my flip-flopped feet and filled the grinder hoppers from a bag of rich, umber beans.

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"What Great Grief Has Made the Empress Mute" June Jordon - Poetess

Because it was raining outside the palace
Because there was no rain in her vicinity

Because people kept asking her questions
Because nobody ever asked her anything

Because marriage robbed her of her mother
Because she lost her daughters to the same tradition

Because her son laughed when she opened her mouth
Because he never delighted in anything she said

Because romance carried the rose inside of a fist
Because she hungered for the fragrance of the rose

Because the jewels of her life did not belong to her
Because the glow of gold and silk disguised her soul

Because nothing she could say could change the melted music of her space
Because the privilege of her misery was something she could not disgrace

Because no one could imagine reasons for her grief
Because her grief required no imagination

Because it was raining outside the palace
Because there was no rain in her vicinity