Mosaic

Verse 1

Clocks forgot their loyalties, oven blinks 11:11

Phone swears 9:03, radio splits the heaven,

Half weather, half poetry, “bring an umbrella,” it sings,

Then a voice behind me says, “Don’t touch anything.”

“Don’t make the coffee,” says a me in my shoes,

Same scar, same braid, but a different bruise,

“In my version it sparks, lights the ceiling fan,”

“In mine it wakes the block,” I reach with my hand.

Pre-Chorus

The bell rings twice, reality pours in waves,

Firefighter in a tux, peppermint girl brave,

Kid with two scooters, then only one,

“You Dee?” “I’m Dee.” “Well that’s inconvenient, hon.”

Chorus

Anchor practice, say it out loud:

“At Dee’s, we start the day with a cup and a cloud,

Smells like toast, like rain, hold the seam, hold the sound,

Say it together till the city calms down.”

Anchor practice, hold to the key,

“The puddles are ankle-deep, walk home with me,

The sidewalks are sure, the doors remember us,”

Say a small true thing when the world combusts.

Verse 2

The grinder jams like a trapped little bee,

“Do I work here today?” says the barista to me,

“Yes,” we answer twice, the radio chooses one voice,

Two bakers swap languages, both of them rejoice.

A woman chalks lines, draws seams in the stone,

“Grandma said when quilts age, the pieces are shown,”

The espresso’s a time organ, don’t touch those keys,

We laugh like survivors, we pray like baristas, say please.

Pre-Chorus

“I’m Alvarez,” she says, vest high-vis bright,

Municipal Office of Continuity, stitching the night,

“Pick a simple story, a chorus, a chant,

Narrative phase lock—if jargon you want.”

“Like a chant?” “Like a chorus,” her clipboard sighs,

We climb on the counter, shout into the skies,

“Say it with me,” third time holds, sirens find a tone,

The kid sets down a scooter, it stays just one.

Chorus

Anchor practice, say it out loud:

“At Dee’s, we start the day with a cup and a cloud,

Smells like toast, like rain, hold the seam, hold the sound,

Say it together till the city calms down.”

Anchor practice, hold to the key,

“The puddles are ankle-deep, walk home with me,

The sidewalks are sure, the doors remember us,”

Say a small true thing when the world combusts.

Verse 3

We tape a card to the door, a note for the lost,

“If muffins make you allergic in this timeline, pause,”

The city buffers and snaps, a glass needle blinks,

A field remembers festivals, we walk its old links.

“We pass the whale mural,” I call the path true,

“It’s an octopus for me,” says me-two,

“Call it a whale today,” we decide as one,

A teen blow-dries the sky—“Blending!” they yell—“Done?”

A man fights his reflection that won’t play along,

“You left,” says the mirror with a cigarette strong,

“Anchor practice?” we ask, “Tell me your name,”

He says it three ways, then one, cries, and we’re the same.

Verse 4

Playground is a mosaic, cranes and stars,

Teachers sit singing on chalk-bitten tar,

“Iris,” I say, my kid lifts her eyes,

A scientist’s goggles, a thousand goodbyes.

“You look tired,” she says....

Julie O’Hara

THANK YOU for reading my work. I am a global nomad/permanent traveler, or Coddiwombler, if you will, and I move from place to place about every three months. I am currently in Chile and from there, who knows – probably Argentina? I enjoy writing articles, stories, songs and poems about life, spirituality and my travels. You can find my songs linked below. Feel free to like and subscribe on any of the platforms. And if you are inspired to, tips are always appreciated, but not necessary. I just like sharing.

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