Lunch in the Spring

-Don Pomerantz

Heaven is a Chinese restaurant, or could

be one, that serves Whatever You Choose.
It’s April.  A chill lingers in the air.
You sit inside next to the glass panel
by the veranda that you consider too cold.

God enters it, sits down next to you,

with the panel of glass between.

He’s just as you pictured Him because

He is the perfect teacher who begins

you wherever you are.  He wears a nametag

from a convention He attended today

that says Whatever You Wish because
that’s the way He simply is—and

since outside the glass is not only

the present, the past, but also the future,

He knows what you want before you

know it. He knows you want to break

the glass to touch Him, to be with Him,
but that would be desire, so you can’t—
then you don’t want to break the glass,
but that would be desire also,
so you can’t not do it either.

The orange slice comes after the meal

you’ve forgotten.  You close your eyes,

bite into the future of spring.
It explodes, you close your eyes
and they open.  God has left, and

on the table, a huge tip.

(The diminutive waitress will now retire).

The orange juices drape your tongue as

the cool air drapes the glass you’ve become,

no longer separating you from yourself,

reflected, where He sat, outside,

in the redolence of early spring air.

After considerable time in Western New England, Don Pomerantz now lives in New York City where he is a special education teacher.  His poems have appeared in Failbetter, Eclectica, Spindle, Convergence, Stylus Poetry Journal, Common Ground Review, and elsewhere.