Something Comforting
Something comforting about eavesdropping on the next table
At a local restaurant in a plain vanilla suburb of Chicago,
Hearing the names of familiar streets, bridges and neighborhoods,
Stitched together with the remembered traffic and parking nightmares,
Spoken in the New York City “twang” I, at that moment, missed very much
but years ago couldn’t wait to escape.
Something comforting about suddenly remembering after years
To order my peppers and onions grilled crispy brown in my scrambled eggs
Just like my Polish and German (or French depending on the war) grandma
Made for me and my buddies on many occasion launching us back to college
Creating the tradition we talk about even today.
Something comforting about visiting a Lithuanian restaurant
Came upon by sheer happenstance one random Saturday
With customers and wait staff speaking the language
As culturally appropriate music played,
Being served rye bread, potato pancakes with rich sour cream
And lard soaked sour kraut as only eastern Europeans can make.
Something comforting about remembering, while washing dishes
With my twenty one year old daughter, the time I deeply hurt
my high-school-dropout, salt-of-the-earth, WW II vet, Knight of Columbus,
Work-till-he-died father with a quick, sharp comment
That I take back over and over again in prayer
But only until now told out loud to the one I hold dearest.
Something comforting about acting like teenage boys
With the same, as men, thirty five years later,
Not missing a beat with teenage boy brand humor
Sharing hopes and, hard to believe, deep thoughts about life, love
And the aches of aging used-to-be-teenage-boy bodies
Bonded by brotherhood and fueled by dreams.
