Ruth

The new shop opened on the seventh of February.
I still haven’t been.
Not even near.

It has an escalator.
I would like to ride it.

To go up and down.
To see the beans from above and below.
The neat rows of cans like apostles on the shelf.

Instead I go back to the place with stories in the windows and sit.

A man comes in.
He smiles at me and my feet twitch.
But I don’t mind him being there.
He has his shopping beside him too.

He sits in the place that is usually filled by Alice or Felder or you.

I look at the back of his head.
His shoulders.
A real body filling up the space in front of me.

How strange.
How strange that I stay.

Then I remember.
The girl who puts sweeteners in her spearmint tea is called Ruth.
Ruth.

I go around this empty town like Ruth.
Gleaning.
Pulling up the roots of names and faces.
Placing them in shelves and rows.
Riding up and down the memories and words.

There are people here.
People who become the stories in the window.

It calms me.
To know that they will return to the same table.
Order the same drink.
Chew the same invisible food.

The man gets up to leave.
It’s a very special place he says
And I smile and say
Yes. It is. Very special.

It is hard to hear my voice.
To share the words out loud.

But as he leaves I know he has given me
A penny’s worth of kindness and love for the day.