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talking to myself

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unbeknownst

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markdohle

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The old man sat at the table by himself,

Unnoticed if not ignored by others,

Quiet,

Looking down at the book he was reading,

An aura of peace surrounding him,

Content with his solitude

Focused on the world within the book.

The waitress has a kind heart,

Easy to see in the gentle way she talks to him,

Touching his shoulder,

Asking in a whisper if he wants more coffee.

He returns in kind,

Smiling such a gentle way,

I can see why she dotes on him.

They see each other,

In that comes a knowing,

Yes a species of love that binds,

Perhaps only for an hour,

Or for longer periods if he comes often.

Little islands of healing often overlooked,

Since we can be healers unbeknownst to ourselves.

A touch,

The smile giving freely,

Little thing true,

However the seeds planted take root,

Who knows what fruit comes to fruition

When we become healers unbeknownst to ourselves.

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