Making You A Latte – by Elizabeth Blue

6.3.12
5-Close Corral Shift (at Time Market/Cafe in Tucson, AZ)

{One of Elizabeth’s last poems, written when she’d finished chemo, was in remission, and was just beginning to tell people that she’d had cancer. She had wanted to get through treatment and live as normal a life as possible, not having people pity her or treat her differently. This shows some of the sacrifices involved…and we discovered the cancer had returned only about a week after this.}

I’m making you a latte and I’m being paid minimum wage and you’re not going to tip me no matter how well I foam this milk.
You’re asking about our bagel selection and I’m making love in New York.
You’ve decided you would like a muffin, to go, and I’m editing my first thesis.
You’re in need of napkins and I’m being painted in Paris.
I’m staring out the window onto the patio and I’m crying.
You want ice and the ice machine hasn’t been filled yet and I’m getting married in the desert.
You want another latte and I’m crying wet hot embarrassing tears at 7:30 in the morning because all my yoga teachers are out there, on the patio.  And I miss them.
I miss them because I haven’t been to yoga since I started chemo and lost all my hair and confidence and beauty.
And yoga was my first love.
Even before Andrew.
And I miss it so much my heart aches and seeing the people who I practice with outside that window…they’re all together and smiling and happy and when they came inside they were all so excited to see me and they don’t know why they haven’t seen me in forever, because I never told them I was sick.
And they don’t know how much I miss them.  And their not knowing just absolutely breaks my heart.

I’m betting all the time at work.
I’m betting that the children I imagine having when I see young mothers come in, I’m betting that those (my) children are possible.
I’m betting that the weight I gain from pizza will someday melt away when I regain control and stop eating.
I’m betting that the hours I spend imagining the guy I like/love, riding by on his back are not wasted because someday they’ll make his eventual interest in me all the more exciting.
I’m betting that all the lessons I’m learning while getting paid $7.65 an hour are worth it, that I won’t forget them or this summer.

Elizabeth Blue © 2012