The Midnight Lunch Room
(From “The Frozen Grail and Other Poems”)
By Elsa Barker
With little silver one may enter here,
And yet those hungry faces watch outside
The frosty window—and the door is wide!
The clatter to my unaccustomed ear
Of dishes and harsh tongues, is like a spear
Shaken within the sensitive wounded side
Of Silence. Soiled, indifferent hands provide
Pitiful fare, and cups of pallid cheer.
In my warm, fragrant home an hour ago
I wrote a sonnet on the peace they win
Who worship Beauty! Let me breathe it low.
What would it mean if chanted in this din?
What would it say to those out in the snow,
Who hunger, and who may not enter in?