Automat, 1927
by Nancy Cherry
—after the painting by Edward Hopper
If I wait a few more minutes, the time for choosing will pass—the ships will have embarked, our blue dream drowned. I think of the way we named each bird that arrowed along the horizon, named wind in the brush, named all the green growth. Now the winds bring a confusion of shorebirds and salt. If I wait until they dim the lights and the bitter coffee grows cold in this cup, the time for answers will pass. Am I waiting for the night to spin gold between storms? I came here looking for answers and became fascinated with each nickel-plated door—the plate of pastrami on rye, the good ground mustard, toothpicks in their gay hats—something different each time. Now I won’t look in the mirror anymore. I do my makeup by rote—collars high to hide the deepening lines of my throat, the way my shoulders sag, and my mouth. Maybe he’s right. Maybe I do it all by rote—frozen dinners, late nights, late mornings, the house empty. Most of the roses have died. What did I expect? Seven years buried with the iris. If I wait, the garden will sink back into the past with our dream. Every day, he is farther away. If I wait any longer, I will have to walk, and I have forgotten how many cold blocks back to spring.
Nancy Cherry is a North Bay Area poet and editor living in Novato, CA. Her poetry has appeared in Gyroscope, Nimrod, Calyx, Mid-American Review, and West Marin Review. She was recently recorded in Berkeley, CA on voetica.com/poets/1001/5 if you would like to hear her read.