serenity

the serenity hides in between reams of chocolate coffee cups

and my espresso scented shirt

it hides in the salt shakers that I overflow

with a cinnamon sugar blend,

the one we call cinnamon dolce, a word which is known to mean

sweetly and softly

the serenity hides behind the lutheran church next door

the one that,

if you bend over by the ice bin to pick up a plastic cup,

you can see the steeple through the glass of the waist-high sliding door

it hides in the way my blonde-shot lashes feel weighed down by a 3:30 alarm,

the flashing yellows on the empty streets,

and the unlined eyes that someone will call pretty today

the serenity hides in the flat white noise of the window fan

the akilter angles of the gray woven patio chairs

and the silver steel sound that ice makes when it tumbles

it hides in a macchiato sunrise

the one that melts upward from a ruler straight roof

like a child's pastel chalking

that's gone horribly blurry

the serenity hides

because no one told me that at 4:30 AM

no one wants something from you

and the world,

for once

is willing to wait.

g.c.s