Image: Linda Marsden
MARS HILL CAFÉ
Belinda Curby
It was my place of inspiration
My writing haven
It was where my heart fell in love
With the art of poetry
Where live music married me
And local artists painted
Sweet masterpieces in my mind
Sitting for hours creating
Words poured out of me
Dancing on my page
My birth as a new poet
Two years since they closed
People look at its skeletal remains
Lights switched out, windows empty
Its epitaph Mars Hill Cafe
Etched in a sign like granite
Standing like a gravestone
Cars still line the streets like coffins
And people unconsciously form a procession
Embraced in a sombre silence
I reminisce about the old times
But to me it still lives on
When I close my eyes
Shapes like ghosts form in the empty window
And the café fills once more
works of art come to life on the walls
Music seeps through the front doors
The smell of coffee and cake wafts through
I hear the chatter of people
The laughter, it echoes
And I imagine myself once again reading my poetry
Holding the microphone tightly in my hand
The room fills with warmth
Emotions like fire rage within me
I try not to extinguish any words
Blindly delivering with a smile
Watched on by friends
The audience inspires me
As words dance from my lips
I open my eyes, the room is empty
A huge tear on my cheek