Written as a break from literary criticism.

Ice, painfully cold, stings my tongue. Remnants of pink passion and the tang of lemons linger. A burst of summertime like the sharp crackle of fireworks.

A raspy voice, metallic guitar, ending with the anticlimax of a shaking tambourine. Buzz of a blender, staccato instructions—“mocha—sweetened iced —caramel—.“ The silence of opened books; gentle click-click-click of the keys. Soundtrack to an afternoon.

Nine pairs of headphones. A moment of eye contact. Three more moments followed by half of a smile. Later, we’ll walk past one another and pretend we’ve never met.

Happy Saint Patrick's Day!

Christ with me, Christ before me, Christ behind me,

Christ in me, Christ beneath me, Christ above me,

Christ on my right, Christ on my left,

Christ when I lie down, Christ when I sit down, Christ when I arise,

Christ in the heart of every man who thinks of me,

Christ in the mouth of everyone who speaks of me,

Christ in every eye that sees me,

Christ in every ear that hears me.

{Beautiful words penned by St. Patrick in his prayer,

"St. Patrick's Breastplate"}