Another true story

In Alpine

In the no-name café higgledy-piggledy packed with bread,
grapefruit, patio furniture, recovered Queen Anne loveseats
and a second-hand office chair or two, waiting for a cinnamon
roll and the spider-bite of another song sung by Sinatra
Ella or Bobby Darin (so I had no choice) I grabbed a book
off the bowed shelves – Mythology – and dared the muse to
tickle me with a random dive. Yellowed leaves parted and
opened to “Orpheus.” I laughed and dared the muse again,
slid my hand in for another gift but when I opened to the
page with those shamans singing what came before the Kalevala,
singing to create the world, I knew it was past time to go.