I went back through the files in my old computer to dig up poetry I no longer remember writing. I wrote this one in March 2015 then edited it in December 2018.

Hanging in the Coffee Shop

There’s something about the way it’s leaning;
A painting, tilted, fit so perfectly,
But crookedly, against a red brick wall:
As though I’ve come upon it en medias res,
And it’s about to fall.

It echoes in cadmium yellows and crimsons
On top of slapped turquoise, and
Black lines are fit somewhere in the abstract as
Mountains, maybe. It’s all lying against a red brick wall.

There’s something about the way it’s leaning;
Against the rock, hung on its chain, nailed in
The mortar for balance: and crooked. Perhaps
Someone intentionally poked it up an inch
On the right, for salience.

It begs the need for a tilted head or a tilted world
Might flick us off its edge. Or, maybe, it’s a
Comment on the fragility of stability and the
Overwhelming necessity for complacency.

There’s something about the way it’s leaning;
One imperfection in the world of the coffee shop—
One in one hundred—people lie about reading
And writing and drinking and computing
And not noticing this crooked, this masterpiece.

It calls to be seen, to be contemplated, to be
Appreciated by you, by me, by
One in one hundred imperfect pieces, tilted heads, and
Crooked smiles all hanging against the red brick wall.

There’s something about the way it’s leaning
That makes me wonder what would happen if it fell.
If the rough pattern of the brick were to crumble and
The fixed stature of the canvas were to tumble,
Would the computers and the writers and the coffee drinkers see?

Would the movers and the shakers and the level-headed meet
With this painting and wonder what it means?
Would the artist show up to find it in pieces tangled in
The crevices of each little crack in the red brick wall?

There’s something about the way it’s leaning;
It makes the mountains seem more dangerous and the
Abstract feel real. I wonder if it’s always moving;
If it’s always slowly and continuously tilting until,
One day, it completely overturns and no one cares to see.

I wonder if the coffee shop, this otherworldly and supposedly comfortable
Place, is really the right setting for a masterpiece. I wonder if these people
Will ever know what they’ve not seen. I wonder if these drinkers and these hipsters
And these inspirational quote readers know what’s hanging, tilted, against the red brick wall.

Stay gold,
Sabrina