For the woman in the Balvenie and the woman in the light.
Wrapped in a pensive mood
she slurped single malt on the rocks
sitting by herself
in The Union Tavern
staying put to be discovered.
Just like an infant
waiting for her father
at the carousel,
near the River Thames,
aching to be melted
into his embrace.
Her fragile dreamland
cracked open,
inside and out,
when she finally registered:
no superhero
in a flashy cape
was coming.
No rescue,
No miracle.
Only the low hum
of loneliness
and the taste of
stone cold alcohol.
Until,
a cordial woman
with eyes like old prayers,
pleaded gently,
"You are a beautiful woman,
You have a pretty smile,
Try to smile more".
Her words
didn't flatter
they anointed.
They stuck the center
of the holy ache.
And in that moment,
the Balvenie warmed differently
the silence glowed.
The woman
marked me with warmth
I didn't see coming.
If this poem softened something in you…
I would love to send you more.
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