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Mostly Minutiae No. 22

I’m between dropping the kids off at
the airport and my EMDR appointment.
I’m sitting with steno pad in hand at a

Starbucks near Bell & Tatum in a chair,
not at a table. In the front left corner
my back to the window; looking at the

whole store. Packed. Big rain today.
Outside seating empty. It was a can’t-
see-the-road type rain. Unrelenting all

the way down to the airport and part
way to here. Grande hazelnut latte.
Across from me a man with blue soft

soled canvas shoes to match his jeans.
Iridescent orange pullover top. Doing
something with his phone; a book in his

lap upside down. A small book. Looks
like a self-help type book with a few
quotes on each page. Won’t help.

I don’t wear tops that bright. Speakers
above playing something 1930’s big
band. Female vocal. Big brass with a

great piano. Can’t make it out. Near me,
a table of five women and one man sitting
clustered around a table for four. One hot

drink; the rest cold. Sitting a longtime.
“In three-quarter time…” At a high long
table with stools, eight men with laptops.

Only two talking across from each other.
“Tiny tots with their eyes all aglow…”
Blue shoes still fiddling with his phone.

I see red fluffy socks over black tights,
black Nike’s, waiting for her drink. Her
brown hair is pulled back tight in a bun.

So tight, her very long eye lashes seem
longer; like little fans sticking straight out.
Up at the front of the order line, an older

gent with a younger woman point at the
two vacant seats next to and across
from me. He sat down next to me.

He had a soft blue cast on his left wrist.
Hands that were once long, elegant, and
strong. Not so now. Great smile. We

started to chat. His daughter joined us
but stayed on a business call. Osteo-
something had set in. They put hot tea

in two cups with two tea bags. Hard to
get the cover off and the tea bags wedged
in. I helped him. It was clear from his

charming voice that he was from the UK.
We talked about rain. About snow. He
remembered snow the most from when

he was with the RAF in Germany. 1953.
He goes back to the UK every year; not
this year. Health. Maybe next May.

“What do you miss most in the UK?”

“The green. You can see it as you fly into

She looked up from her phone, “Nothing
all morning; now we have to go.” So did I.
Now for session eleven and second EMDR.

My brain and EMDR revealed more unknown
elements of abuse. Too graphic and painful
to write here. Or anywhere. Hard stuff.

(Maybe journal the detail for my sanity.)
I believe I’m healing. Slept fairly well for the
first time in decades. Somewhat alert.

No one deserves abuse.

I would love to go to the UK someday. I think
I could live there. Green is okay. Would I have
more coffee than tea? More tea, I’d guess.

Categories: Poetry

Tagged as:


Poet, Writer, US Army (Retired)

I dreamed of writing when I was a youngster. The love of books and writing may have helped to dull the pain of severe sexual abuse as I was sexually abused by two men at my father’s place of work from age 8 to 12 or so. I learned about this for the first time when I was 50 years old. So, as a boy, reading was the only place I had to go to. My fantasy world was better and safer than my real world. I loved reading and writing.
Reading books and writing poetry are a joy to me still and are an important part of my life. (See my About Me page on my blog for the complete profile.)

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