The door opens and up I look, blinded by the light of dawn, her escapades
breaking through my corneas.

The door opens and in comes you, wide-eyed and youthful,
a boy scout, a child.

The cafe is quiet
on this Thursday morning, croissants sitting serenely in their
glass homes, the muffled voices of those who know to whisper, the slow tapping on
by those just barely awake.

The cafe was quiet, until you walked in,
a presence in our midst, the resonance of
a volcanic eruption.
There’s a smile etched across your lips, a laugh always on the tip of your tongue, a joke to be made, a song to be sung.

I feel merely human
knowing you exist, knowing there’s a walking
supernova out
there in the world.

I feel merely human when you,
demi-god, titan, superhero,
walk into my little cafe,
on this lonely Thursday morning.




Hana Tzou is a dancer, a poet, a coffee addict, a city girl, a future English major, the one you go to with homework questions, someone who puts pink raincoats on her beagle, the grammar police, a candle connoisseur, the Queen of Sestinas, and a chopstick master. She doesn’t like being called “Hannah” and loves to procrastinate AP homework by writing. You can find her work in Stone Soup, Teen Ink, Germ Magazine, and elsewhere.

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