You Should Know by Sarah Arthurs

It is another world. 

The snow lying along the  
golden brown branch of the cherry tree. 
Luxuriates, stretches like Pippen   
upon the woven red, purple, green throw  
on the distressed leather couch.  
Warm colors lure us like  
fire in the pizza oven. 

She casually tosses split firewood into the Brick Oven,  
making coals, cooking pizza layered with cheese, tomato, sausage.  
A human circle of pizza dough lopsided and laden  
heavy with hot bubbling flavors  
baked into each other joined by heat,  
delivered by a guy in biker clothes and dark glasses  
to tiny tables, crowded bums almost knocking stuff off. 
Santa comes with a small plate of  foil wrapped chocolate,  
panna cotta, moist and soft in the mouth with our $4 half pint lattes  

He comes twice a week texts a photo of the lasagna to his Nona.  
The old guys crowd around the tables talking  
like they own the place.  
The girl with a wine red ponytail squeezes  
her tight jeans between the tables,  
the black haired Pizza Priestess  
presides in Italian mystery  
over the mouth of the oven  
delivering and receiving.  

I have walked onto a set,  
a play or sitcom. 
Italians, South Asians, Africans, 
olives, flowers, sourdough bread,  
baguettes, vinegars, coffees.  
Pasta fresh on Friday afternoons,  
coiled in nests one nest per person,  
with homemade pasta sauce 
special because of the sugar and fennel seeds.  
​
To Marco, whose office is the table by the window,  
I say, you should know I bring all my friends here. 
To me whose spot looks directly into the fire, 
he says, you should know I love you.

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About Sarah Arthurs
​Hello, I am a mother, an earthling and an advocate for joy. This poem happened at my favourite "Third Space ", The Italian Supermaket. Enjoy!