Last Dinner Together

Last Dinner Together

by Donna Vorreyer


I watch the red door swing in and out,
the heat of the kitchen escaping with
each pass, stifling as Caribbean noon.
At least that’s how it seems.
My burning skin could be something else-
guilt, perhaps, or humiliation. You push
your food around your plate, your fork
some metaphor for indecision. We pay
the bill, slide our arms into two dark coats,
walk in silence to the coffee shop we
had chosen earlier for dessert. Behind
the counter, a green door frames your head,
its porthole steamed with bakery waves.
I watch as a hand clears the glass, an eye
lowering to look out at the customers. I reach
for your hand, but it is limp and cold. I take it
as a sign. Two doors, both sheltering warmer
climes. I step behind the counter, despite
your protestations. The waitress just watches,
amused, as I push the brass plate and swelter
in the yeasty air. Green. Go. I am prepared to rise.


-refers from Jonathan K Rice’s artpiece Lost and Found