Gypsy [#30]

Gypsy

         for all the artists of the Gypsy Café

She was wild, dressed in stained glass, offering cakes, coffee and conversation in chairs and couches, their arms akimbo, scattered throughout. She was always available. Her walls collected art.

She was home to the homeless and the artists among us. She opened her arms to music and poetry, to the diversity of community that surrounded her in a city that struggled hard to embrace it. She embraced us with joy. And we hugged her with rage, rant and song. Our voices filled the crannies of her caves ...and spilled out her doors.

Here, the virgin poet first stood up to recite. Here, the cello played with the singing saw. The guitar joined the voice for those who strained to listen. Old and young, sequins and rags; all eyes glistened, enraptured by stories, rhythms, rhymes. Those were the good old times!

And she's still there on the corner of Cincinnati and Cameron. Stained glass and coffee cups waiting for her audience to return.

© Kåre Enga

[168.243] #30 November 21, 2011.


Note to self, earlier version: She was wild, dressed in stained glass, offering cakes, coffee and conversation in chairs and couches scattered throughout. Her walls collected art. She was always available.

She was home to the homeless and the artists among us. She opened her arms to music and poetry, to the diversity of community that surrounded her in a city that struggled to embrace it. She embraced us. And we hugged her with rage, rant and song. Our voices filled the crannies of her caves ...and spilled out her doors.

Here, the virgin poet first stood up to recite. Here, the cello played with the singing saw. The guitar joined the voice for those who strained to listen. Old and young, sequins and rags; all eyes glistened, raptured by the stories, rhythms, rhymes. Those were the golld old times!

She's still there on the corner of Cinncinnati and Cameron, stained glass and coffee cups waiting for us to return.