The Painted Lady and the Poet at the Nighthawk Café
Once again I sat at the bar
long after midnight.
Joe sat in his usual seat
on my right. We spoke in mono-
too late, too tired for more.
I turned to look out the window
into the dark and shadowed street
when just beyond the picture frame
I saw her. Her head was tilted
sideways. She was staring.
Hadn’t seen her in months,
years actually, now that I think of it.
But where were the rows of
scarred desks behind her
filled with scribbling children?
Where were the frantic hands
waving in the air trying to get her attention?
Joe never even turned his head at
my hushed, Look.
He just raised his cigarette one more time.
We stared at each other
me, the lady in the painting,
she the poet searching for words,
I with Joe at the bar,
she with a tall man behind her
in an brightly lit office late at night.
There we were two ladies
alone with men at midnight.
as did I.
We acknowledged what we were-
two women alone at midnight
who would have only the dark to see us home.
Janice DeRuiter 2008
Let art surprise you and see what it has to say to you about yourself, your world, life.