Serendipity: A Poem in Parts
Serendipity.
1. An aptitude for making desirably discoveries by accident
2. Good fortune, luck
3. The force that danced on carefree toes through the day of one boy and one girl.
4. The story of that dance.
This is serendipity.
A girl walks into a café that she rarely ever enters to meet a friend she almost never sees. She passes by the table of a boy she notices is drawing on a card but she passes by because people often notice one another with little notice.
Her friend arrives.
She rises to greet him.
On his way to her, he stops at the table of the drawing boy.
She moves forward for an embrace, pauses for the introduction.
She prepares to perform the perfunctory polite-isms of what will probably be a pointless interaction.
Her hand touches his as their friend says their names. She feels the spark of electric shock.
Eyes meet.
She knows this boy.
Or she knew him as a kid although she never really knew him.
Maybe now she will …
This is serendipity.
Part One:
Tina arrives behind Ross
The four sit together and talk
But it is not a conversation of four
The girl and Ross spill words across the table
Tina and Andrew observe
Ideas and resources for respective endeavors are exchanged
Though the girl is talking, she is not listening
She is making random sketches
And watching the boy who draws
When the boy or Tina interject a comment, her ears prick up at the newness of the sound
But all she really hears
Is the intensity of this boy’s gaze
Eyes and small gestures translate so much more than the continued drone of a conversation
She realizes that running into this boy is serendipity.
Part Two:
Talking may be monotonous
But when Ross and Tina leave
The girl wants nothing more than to continue this silent conversation
It is anything but silent
Voices merge and mingle
Ideas emerge
Inspiration abounds
And somehow
In a world and time and mind where
True connection
Devoid of games and expectations
Seems so rare
All that the boy said made sense to her
And made her make sense to her
She goes to the bathroom and glances mindlessly at the clock
Thinking an hour or two has gone by since she almost passed him by
The clock is a shock
It has been six hours
Time often escapes her
This trap made by humanity to measure what is gone and what remains
But this time, time had passed unaware
There was none of the usual pressure to fill the time, pass the time, use the time
No pressure to do, but just happiness to be
Enraptured
By the mingling of words between two unemployed artist types
Where time had become irrelevant
And life had become art
This was serendipity
Part Three:
Be here now.
“Our faith is faith in someone else’s faith”.
And intelligent people believe it too.
Indymedia.
Walk for peace.
Grass tax.
Zine scenes.
Self-exploration.
Self expression.
Is there anything beyond just cooking the eggs?
It is all important and amazing and interesting and simple.
It is all awesome in the larger, more grand-eloquent meaning of the word
And most importantly, it is all funny.
“Every day from here to there, funny things are everwhere”
Said Dr. Seuss
This was serendipity.
Part Four:
Bibliophile.
They pass by a bookstore neither has ever been in though they should both have stopped in before.
They like the smell of books and the feeling of rooms where they have been collected.
They explore the magnificent images of Escher and the simple complexities of each other.
They sit on the floor, oblivious to the goings on around them until a petite Asian woman who had been puttering around in preparation for something notices him in more than just passing.
They remember each other.
Exchange commentary.
Catch up.
And she sees serendipity duck behind a bookcase as the woman invites them to attend a poetry reading she is planning.
How could they not?
They hear poems.
Provoking thought while simplifying sensation
Vow of silence
Sounds of Korea
The fear of night, fear of darkness, fear of media saturation
Closed eyes reveal more vivid sight than open ones
And they lean comfortably into the space between them
This is serendipity
Part Five:
Land of the Pharaohs
Heeding Nathan’s clowing suggestions
They locate the African import store
Crystal Dawn and One Heart Beat
Splendid voice and drumming rhythm
Culture …. Energy … Motion … Life
An amalgamation of these and more
Into a very beautiful event
She dances with a woman who is cute and funny and happy
He kicks a girl because they have release-your-angst-on-me entitlements
She falls in love with a very old man who could be described as spry
He plays flutes from multiple orifices
They dance faster than everyone else
They find truth in the Desiderata
And in music
A small chair sits on a shelf
A poster in a front corner shakes a silencing finger
The scent of incense overwhelms
The bass plays on
She is weary of poetry and dancing
But even adores the weariness
This is serendipity.
Part Six:
Cool breeze on a desert night
They hear a voice from across the street
She sees serendipity slip into the shadows
It’s his sister, Claudia
Post-Cher-Concert perfect
Orange eye make-up,
A snakeskin bodysuit,
A jangling belt
What sounds absurd looks amazing
A row of dancing feathers on her head completes the persona
Had they met in another time and place
Perhaps the girl would not have liked her
But this was a night of perfection
They talked, they laughed
They danced
Sweat and smoke and stench obliterated
By energy and motion and language
As they speak of the music, he exclaims
“Speaking of music …”
Leaping into the arms of a passerby
Turns out that the girl knows him
This is serendipity.
Part Seven:
Word of a party filtered throughout the experience
Party attended
Populated by fabulous people
They eradicated all pretension
Lived on earth
Alterations and escape were available but not mandatory
An appreciation of humanity
Shared beauty
A cat named Tanya
Breakdancing to Latin music
Rave dancing to hip hop
Flipping circles on trampolines
This felt like love
Until hunger happened
Practical things took precedence over the lovely exchange of energy
3 am trip to grills with photo booths and cereal
Dark, gritty coffee
This is serendipity
Part Eight:
She never saw him again
That chance meeting was a solo occurrence during a long day and a longer night
But it left a lasting impression
This boy emanates music in every motion he makes
His ideas are symphonies
His words hold melody
The beauty of a person is that they are never fully formed
Lives are filled with broken chords
We mean to strum a tune but make a cacophony
We are all full of uncharted huts and rhythmic drumbeats
He doesn’t play the piano
He finds the saxophone simple
He makes a girl who can’t hold a tune want to sing and dance
The sun rises and she can hear it
And so she can write again
It was serendipity.
