Shayna List
Contributor
in my restaurant
paint and paper are peeling
weight is shifting from back
to forth
and a spoon sings on empty china.
voices harmonize
or clash
the smell of stories and histories and
lemongrass
soak in the air
chairs
croak like hungry toads
I cleaned them this morning.
The tart spice of vinegar stained my shoes.
stains
of food
stains of rude
tired
scathed and
oh so inevitable people
and some of the best smiles I’ve seen in my life
will never relent.
like the ever-burrowing scent
of deep-fryer into my clothes.
this is my restaurant
my castle
my shoebox
where the sprinkling of the doorchime is my smile’s Pavlovian cause
where I try not to slip
where I try not to send wine glasses to a musical demise
where I try not to flirt with anyone who’s going to be dead by 2045.
Where I usually fail at these things.
but there are holy moments
when my heart feels so full
with the heavy laughter of a stranger
with the memories from someone else’s head
just from the weight of
fresh
unmelty minds like ice
my shoebox
this is my castle
this is my restaurant
white or brown rice?
