the front door of the diner
the waitress's presence
touched everyone in the room.
the men pretended, tried not to stare.
some rose like the heat shimmer
rising off the asphalt after a rain.
the women watched with distain.
Maggie was the mirror
reflecting their every flaw.
the waitress had long wavy red hair.
her name was Maggie
and her crimson hair hung down
passed her shoulders
midway down back.
she had freckles on her face
and when she walked by me
she smelled sweet
like a meadow after a rain.
I don't know who came up with it
but the men called her red riding hood,
and the women called her, "slut."
she was a cardinal
trapped in a fluorescent cage.
i had stepped
into the unknown
forest of my fear,
that kick in the teeth.
i wrote it on a napkin.
"a wild and holy light
your eyes of a fiery love
as hallow as evergreen halls
drenched in golden yellows.
how alone my longing is,"
then i handed the napkin to Maggie.
she looked intently down at me,
smiled; "beautiful,"
and sat down.
love transcends reason,
has no reason.
handing her the napkin,
"I wrote it for you.
"i'd like to take you out," and then,
"but I'm broke."
"walk me home, then."
"I can afford a walk."
I walked Maggie to Grandma's house.
I shifted trying to look casual.
Grandma didn't look at Maggie at all,
just me.
we went in. Maggie went to make us tea. I sat
on the couch across from Granny
and finally Granny says,
"I see a man who wants to say
more than he ever has." and,
"she always brings a stray dog home.
she feels sorry for the mutts."
"i'm not a stray dog, or a mutt."
she smirks, "oh. you re a big, bad wolf."
"sometimes, Grandma, light follows the dark
and even a bad wolf can be good."