Last week, I got a chance to meet up with The Little Black Coffee Cup. We only knew each other through Twitter, thanks to our mutual philosophy–“substance over stuff,” as she aptly says. We connected over delicious gourmet coffee, then explored the artsy streets of Culver City.
Before we parted ways, I typed a poem for her while she took photographs. She graciously sent back not only the poem, but the pictures.
She also has a beautiful blog post about our time together:
We picked a spot to sit between her car and a tattered white picket fence. “So I am going to stare at you for 2 minutes,” she said, “this might feel a little awkward.” I asked her if I could take photos while she wrote. She obliged. Hiding behind the lens was a little bit more comfortable for me than just embracing the nakedness of sitting still under someone’s full attention. Besides, the scene was too beautiful not to capture.
I urge you to read the rest of it here. I was going to write my own write-up of the encounter, but she put it together with such perfect, minimalistic eloquence that I don’t think anymore needs to be said.
I really enjoyed how this poem came to be. If I could, I would love to meet a stranger, spend a few hours with them, and create a poem at the end of our time together. In some ways, I enjoy that better than immediate first impressions within the limit of two-minute meetings.
Here is the poem that came out of our interaction:
“Eyes And I’s”
Crows mouthjar melodies
and we abide
our own destinies.
is a dish. The acts
we react to in front
of an audience. Space shivers
to and fro. Our pigeon
companions. And we
circle vision, ever wondering;
mailmen ticking, waitress
september 5th 2013