I dreamed I lived in Austin with legs like a sparrow and a hungry heart. I was looking for God but kept finding people— strange little people with pieces of their bodies missing: an arm, a leg, a nose, a belly button. They kept offering me ham sandwiches and telling me I was going to die. I’d already died, I told them, chewing mightily and wishing I had some water. That was just a preview, they said. Next time, you’ll really die. And they marched ahead of me, flip-flop, as I combed the streets searching for God. Suddenly it was night and I was standing on the edge of town alone. A cold moon shone over me and the lights of a little café gleamed down the road. An old man wobbled up to me and said, “Well, here I am.” “God?” I asked. “Who else? Got a quarter?” “Yes.” I gave it to him. “Let’s make it to that diner,” he said. “Refills are free. I’ll tell you anything you want.” “For just a quarter?” I asked God chuckled. “Got a cigarette?” I gave him one. We made it to the café and ordered coffee, hunched in a booth in the warm room, the lights soft and comforting. “Anything special you want?” God asked, taking another cigarette from the pack and lighting it with my Bic. “Love,” I said. I started to cry. “O.K.,” he said, patting my arm with a bony hand. The room vanished and once more I was in Austin. I was fifty-four with legs like a sparrow and a hungry heart. She stood before me, eyes misty and tender. “God sent me,” she said. “I know.” She offered me a ham sandwich and told me I was going to die. “But not for a while,” she said and took my arm. “Good enough,” I said. “I’m not going to die for a while, I have you, And God owes me a quarter And two cigarettes and”— I felt in my pockets— “a Bic lighter. Would you like to hear what I dreamed last night? “Yes.” “Well, I dreamed I lived in Austin. I was fifty-four I was looking for God but kept finding people.” “And love,” she added. “Yes, love,” I agreed. “I think it’s a set,” she said.
You can find this poem in — Why I Write in Coffee Houses and Diners: Selected Poems
You can also check out the Poetic Outlaws merch shop here! I appreciate your support.
About 20 years ago I met a well-dressed older man sitting alone on a bench at a mall on Michigan Ave. in Chicago. I sat next to him and we began discussing life, triggered by some light comment or other. Within moments, I felt myself to be in the presence of wisdom. I joked that I felt in the presence of God. He chuckled and replied he’d only “been around.” To this day I remember his presence and how this stranger made me feel, both comforted and very much alive.
I knew Albert. Once he gave me some poems he wrote. I was working at a tiny grocery in Austin way back when. I've lost the poems but I have them in my heart. This one made me cry.