after Spencer Reece
When the river has turned into a flickering constellation
When the streets’ historical bricks darken under our feet
When the restaurant’s window awakens with miniature stars
When our uncomplicated chairs are pulled from the table that is now our table
When the candle pulses its notification
When the waiter’s blue apron, workers in their kitchen, the refracting lines
Of silver knives in the glassware tremble and tune themselves
We begin to say thank you in different ways to each other
We place the brined and oiled olives in our mouths, their memory of
sea and volcanic ash now inside us
Outside the moon waits like a lover’s back in the night and we lay the menu
of wines to the side
The old Italian walks over to us, places his large hands on the shoulders of our chairs
He begins to announce the things he has saved in his head for us
Our throats open a little, for all the specials
Those we know, and those which are new
The poem borrows its first line from the text statement about Light Drift | Mural Arts Program by J. Meejin Yoon of MY Studio.
Originally published in Escape Into Life.