Showed up at breakfast
without much appetite
anxious about the day ahead
Hadn’t slept much the night before
tossing and turning in the strange bed
listening to unfamiliar sounds
fretting that I wouldn’t be enough
for the critical audience I’d encounter
the next day, at a cross professional gig.
I waited irritably to be acknowledged
and shown to a table
wondering why I’d bothered
to come to the restaurant
Why hadn’t I just made coffee in my room?
And then, as he took my order,
he called me ‘sweetheart’
And I felt my shoulders relax
and my breath quicken before slowing
And my smile widened
in response to his.
As I sipped the coffee
I shed the self importance
that had tied me in knots
and shrugged off the fear
of not measuring up
Old stuff
that never served me well anyway
And began to see the morning
through the eyes of the barista
who made wonderful coffee
and called me sweetheart.
Liz Crumlish 2025
