Sylvia Fricker at the Bohemian Embassy

A fond memory
across much time,
though somewhat blurred
at many of the edges.

Is it the simple truth
or utter fantasy
that a young girl or lady
in a shiny blue dress
suddenly at eight o'clock
mounted the small stage
near the café's entranceway,
with one hand carrying
a high stool
and in the other
a dark brown guitar?

Did she or did she not
Set the stool down,
then perch precariously
with long legs sheathed
in gloriously shiny nylons?

Then, after quietly
adjusting her guitar's strings,
did she not begin
singing
in a low but clear voice
a sweet song
with the guitar
closely following the melody
flowing from her fingers?

And in that brief moment
did not the steady hum
of idle chatter
in the large echoing loft
abruptly cease
and all that reigned
and held sway
was that sweet girlish voice
reaching out and touching
as if by magic every lonely heart?

Raymond Souster (February 2009)