Chez Diable

Solemnly the silence hovers through my entangled hair
Which had never felt so original before.
But it was not only my hair that felt out of place.
My clothes – compared to theirs, which are reminiscent to me of that time I played ghost
With my little sister; but the drawer with the sheets was too high for us
So we played with the old curtains –
Had never looked more modern than in this environment.
Nonetheless, no-one noticed my presence in the anonymity of this place of Hope
That looked so cold and dead to me -
Or rather found me worthy enough to notice.
Maybe they were all connected to Him;
I mean, for God’s sake, what do I know?
I am only here to bring the red wine.

I turn around, close the heavy, mahogany-adorned monastery door
And walk to the always attractively cosy-looking café ‘Chez Diable’ –
And I noticed for the very first time
That the door is decorated with the same mahogany woodwork as the monastery door –
To deliver the money.
I suddenly remember that the oldest customer once told me
That the café must be as old as the monastery,
Because it has always been there
Just around the corner.