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.