Alfred LaMotte, “Brunch”

orange line


Earth, our waitress, comes
to the table in her rumpled apron
stained with a hundred juices.
“What will it be this morning?”
“Let’s start with some mist
in one of those green valleys,
and a cup of black loam with
a single tree frog.
“Then fallen apples over easy
with extra worms,
a side of scattered leaves
in a caramelized sunbeam.”
“That comes with summer’s last
abandoned bird’s nest salad,” she says.
Or soup of the day, fern bog with
skunk cabbage and blue chanterelles.”
“I’ll take the soup,
a half carafe of autumn rain
and a cruller the shape
of a groundhog’s hole.”
She remembers your order by heart.
She knows what you love.
Old ones come back to this place.
Then they bring grandchildren.
There’s a line to get in.
Sometimes it seems
we have to wait a year,
but it’s worth it.


Fred LaMotte is an interfaith college chaplain and an instructor in philosophy. He lives near Seattle, where he loves to hike, play tenor sax, and gather circles for poetry and meditation. He has published two books of poetry with Saint Julian Press, Wounded Bud and Savor Eternity One Moment at a Time. He also co-authored Shimmering Birthless: A Confluence of Verse and Image with Hawaiian artist Rashani Réa.


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