the welcoming
In a small town cafe,
The cold table top
Starkly contrasting against the
Steaming cup of Coffee
Between my numb hands;
Sitting here now
I think;
What a deranged act
An impulsive move
Leaving the comforts
Of my freedom, my friendships–
My France;
And for what destination?
To what extent?
All that is visible from here
Is a life of uncertainty
Endless pauses
Until finding success
In the Land of Liberty
No one to turn to;
No familiar faces;
No friendly nods
Only forests of fear
The foreign droplets of rain
Rippling through me
Like pangs of anxiety,
The gentle chatter
Around me
A blanket of needles;
I curl my fingers
Around the mug
And take a sip
The warmth of the coffee
My salvation
As it fills my mouth
The sugary sweet smell
My only desire
As it lingers at the bottom of the cup
And now
All I can feel is
home.