Wanting Nothing Is Impossible

 At the Art Institute, I saw someone

I'd met professionally a while back.

We talked easily enough.  I offered

to buy us something to eat, museum café.

She accepted. Younger than I, she'd

lived a lot already.  I sensed she was

broke— nothing obvious, just intuition.

With coffee and food, we talked

more.  I said I was

glad we had run into each other.

It was true.  Happenstance

had pleased me.  Her

face changed.  Maybe apparitions 

of men she’d known had  appeared

around the table.  Maybe she couldn’t

recall a single social interaction

in which someone but especially

men had not seemed

to want too much from her.

I sensed she was broke.  I saw she

thought she saw me  wanting something.

It’s true.  I wanted her to finish her

coffee and say, “Nice to see you,”

and leave.  I wanted to say,

 

“Nice to see you,” and leave.

We said phrases like that.  Her

face kept its wariness.   Her

experience had put her on alert.

We left the café and parted.

Can the pronoun “he” ever

want nothing from the pronoun “her”?

Only in theory.  My acquaintance

did not live in theory.  Her life

 was composed of constant practice.

Insistent apparitions had sat at table.

I sensed she was broke.  Now I hope

that she’s not broke, that she’s

better and well. Well, when I think

of her that day, I feel  briefly sad for

simple social moves quickly

complex in Chicago, not to mention

everywhere.  I am a ghost at

a café table in the Art Institute

looking at her guarded face.  I want

to say, “I don’t want anything.  Just

enjoy the coffee, the food, the rest.”

Her face says, “If you say that,

then you do want something.  You

want me to believe you, and believe the rest.”

hans ostrom 1990/2021