The Magic of Reuben and Rachel

I need someone to talk to . . . to tell my lengthy story
not just any someone
Someone who’ll carve my name
How will I know how loving and gentle my ashes
When there is no one
to put my love on
How can I watch my hands touch my lover’s face
The stroke of my fingers reaching to his heart
moving with compassion
coming with dearest passion to his dearer aid
My love is now invisible; capacity is not measurable; it’s value intangible
When I have no one to love my love on

My love is like warm paint
with a missing canvas
. . . paintbrush saturated poised before no canvas

Why oh why . . . was I made so liquid?
. . . and in this whole wide world no bottles made to hold me

Waiting and looking and hoping for connection
the underlying occupation of those who wait for love
Patience and passion make strange bedfellows
If they lie together peace is going to come
but loneliness and peace sometimes are indistinguishable
it is almost impossible
to tell them apart
. . . sometimes

The world is so big and my mate could be anywhere
in a body I don’t recognize
how will I know I know him
what if he can’t find me
what if he’s in this restaurant and passes right by me
when I’m in the ladies room
or even worse, the restaurant precisely across the street
oh my poor sweetheart
I hope he doesn’t tire from looking so hard
Keep searching for me, darling
I’m standing right here

Reuben

I sat there with a pretense of well-being
plastered on my face
Hard times had taught how unattractive . . . neediness
was in public
This was not the worst day of my life
but things could be better
Just then she walked in
she and an older woman
face, waist and butt; in that exact order
Her body slim and pleasant
An extraordinary face
full of angles, sharps and smooths
with annoyance tugging at the edges
She quick glimpsed the room
and dismissed me with the same glance
I don’t believe she saw me but I wished she had
They moved toward a north booth stationed by a window
So stately in her light blue jeans
her behind breeched the room
I glanced at her once or twice
a third time to fix my talisman
a little luck and charm could make all the difference
I was so sure she looked at me but offered
no credit in her eyes
I had to get going . . . I left with great intention
Mentally, penciling my next move
to get my property back . . .
Moments later she emerged with sun shining on her hair
I shut my mental schedule book and focused where she stood
Unaware of me she rubbed her face
trouble in her eyes

I returned to the dilemma of a hardboiled situation