Poetry — November 2, 2015 11:18 — 0 Comments

At the Allegro – Alex Gallo-Brown

On the eighth anniversary­
of my father’s death,
I come to the Allegro
for coffee,
the last, best hope
for remembering my father
in the cafés and restaurants
of this city.
I have never had much
love for the Allegro.
But I do have love
for a memory.
I was twenty-one
then, living in an
apartment off the Ave.
when one morning I met
my father for coffee.
Six weeks later,
I would leave
Seattle for college
and never see
him alive again.
But on the morning
that I remember
it is a normal day
in Seattle circa 2007
and we are sitting
together in this booth.
I don’t remember
the words I used.
I remember listening.
I remember him
telling me about how
he used to come to the Allegro
as a young writer to develop
the ideas for the stories
he later wrote
for newspapers and magazines.
I remember that I was
quiet, taken with the notion
there was more to the café
than I could presently see—
coffee cup, scone,
copper chrome
of the table.
There were also stories,
some of them ours,
some of them others’.
In moments I am still here
with him listening.
He never left.


Alex Gallo-Brown's prose and poetry have appeared in publications that include Los Angeles Review of Books, The Brooklyn Rail, City Arts, The Good Men Project, and Pacifica Literary Review. He lives in Seattle. See more at www.alexgallobrown.com.

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What am I?

Bioluminescent eye
That sees by the shine
Of its own light. Lies

Blind me. I am the seventh human sense
And my stepchild,

Scientists can't find me.

Januswise I make us men;
Was my image then—

Remind me:

The awful fall up off all fours
From the forest
To the hours…

Tick, Tock: Divine me.

-- Richard Kenney