Purple

She served them-

Day after day,

Week after week,

Month after month,

Year after year.

Never the same face

Always passing through.

They were the people who checked in and out

And she fed them all.

It was like a dance, the way she moved towards every section, careful and precise. Making sure everything was always filled.

The eggs, the sausage, the yogurt, the oatmeal, the fruit, the coffee.

Every morning

there was a special baked good,

always.

One morning, it was lemon poppy seed muffins, then banana nut bread, then cinnamon rolls.

When the food was filled, she’d go to every table, wipe it down and straighten the chairs.

Something weighed heavy on her though,

And her smile seemed veiled and rehearsed.

Maybe it’s her dream, weighing heavy on her.

And maybe it’s her dream to one day, serve them, not in a hotel lobby, but in a building of her own, with her name on it

Maybe

Somewhere where she can breathe,

Somewhere where she can wear a smile without a veil,

Somewhere where they get to go back without passing through,

Perhaps…one day, maybe.