Napo 17

Today's prompt asked: Who shines in your city? My mind immediately thought of one person--the cashier, Courtney, at Willy Burger. She's always so amazingly happy, cheerful, and kind, no matter the circumstance, even after Harvey when it felt like the world was ending. It probably also helps that Willy Burgers are, well, miraculously good. And I say that as a vegetarian!  

Willy Burger. After Harvey

Do you ever wonder

How Noah and his wife

Felt getting off that ark

For the first time after the flood—

Looking up at God?

You sink into the dark wells of her eyes,

Relieved. So many refuges of comfort

Here in Beaumont have flooded,

Been washed out, destroyed.

But Willy Burger stands.

A beacon of bacon,

A sanctuary made of onion rings,

Dripping grease, malts,

A shrine to joy and comfort

For the weary survivors

Of this unholy flood.

The cashier’s eyelashes

Bat as she anticipates your order

And you let it fall from your lips

In prayer. Courtney nods.

She understands. She’s been through Hell

Too, just like you, but somehow,

She looks like a miracle—

Her make-up perfect,

Her white apron, unstained,

Her black hair pulled back

Shining underneath the florescent lights

With a certain holiness.

You wonder if she’s an angel,

Calling back your order to the cooks.

You ask her how she weathered the storm,

And she says, It’s all good, and flashes a smile,

And she tells you how her mobile home washed away

In the current of the ocean’s anger,

But Thank the Good Lord Willy Burger Survived.

So she can make the money to rebuild.

And all you can say is Amen.

You figure she must be an angel—

How she shines among the hungry pilgrims

Filthy with the mud of our flooded world,

The stains of water, blood and tears

On their clothes, who come here for a moment

Of normalcy, and Courtney,

She gives it with a smile,

And the cooks obey her every word

Create miracles inside that kitchen,

The smell of them wafting from the fryers.

She calls your number, says,

Child, your order’s ready,

And she hands you the flesh of her flesh,

The blood of her blood,

Stacked neatly on a tray,

and she smiles so bright

that you know tomorrow

will be better, and you remember

that covenant, that promise,

and you hold onto it,

tightly, that hamburger

dripping grease onto your hands,

and suddenly, you’re filled

with more than simple hope.