#5 Anything Is Possible

Hungarian iced coffee, mocha mousse, and rainbow (almond) squares to pair.

The East Coast air space was closed, so my plane leaving New York has not yet taken off. In my airplane seat, I thought to share this poem I wrote yesterday, in my favorite place in the city.

Anything Is Possible

Anything Is Possible

including this tacky sticker &

growing old to pick up sugar 

in cake that wasn’t there before.

I want to know the thoughts

of the silent ones: whose face 

rest on webbed hands

whose notebooks sprawl with 

beauty I’ve never known —

which makes it chaos?

The girls beside discuss science

after boys, as one does, then

an elderly man in an artist hat 

and red scarf brushes past me, gently

still, almost like caricature

or I am. I recall my company, a 

(we laugh at this) runner, a musician

my friends. The one guy who got my

Instagram then fled; a dear designer I’m seeing

tonight. Which is harder: writing 

poetry or crafting a text? I’m kidding,

harder is not a meaningful comparison.

You’re lucky I shun onomatopoeia 

because the loudest bang just happened:

the expresso guy dropped a metal 

sheet, haha, but people clap and woo-

hoo. You’re lucky I don’t know 

what I’m saying. It must help 

he’s hot, I hear my friends chime. I laugh 

at my line breaks, because peek the rupi-

kaurification of modern poetry. Here is

a sentence

in three parts, 

she said, and I laugh again, for want.

I want to know the thoughts

of strangers who glance the space

as I do. In the chatter which first burst

upon me, I wondered how anyone

got any work done here.

Then I knew —

it’s how you do everything

here, warming light flickering

through eyes

as you write and write. 

You have always known 

what you had wanted to know.

— 12.33 PM, 22 May 2024, Hungarian Pastry Shop, New York City

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