Behold! - Moudi Sbeity

[Lawrence Robinson]

Behold!

is what the young lanky waiter at the cheeky 
Denver trattoria said when he delivered our 
waters, all with the insisting command of it. 
And then again when he brought the bread 
– Behold! Bread. Like he were a minstrel 
summoned by the high court, or a magician 
busking the streets of 1800s Italy, or a God 
proclaiming awe for the granted provisions. 
Behold! the bruschetta on a long rectangular 
plate, the brussels sprouts swimming in way 
too much balsamic. We chuckled each time, 
mouthing behold behold! The Clint Eastwood 
poster on the way to the bathroom, the paper 
menu he said we could take home if we wanted. 
Behold! the arrival of check, the magic of plastic
card, digital money, the trust of a scribble as 
signature for the tip. Behold! his joy, our delight 
each time he said it, the way we kept saying it 
afterwards like kids playing pretend, smiling, 
gesturing our hands towards everything in 
sweeping proclamation - behold! behold! the car, 
the street light, the concert. Waking up in the 
morning to the rising sun saying behold! a new 
day, behold! you, me, behold! all of this, the earth,
our life.
 

	- Moudi Sbeity
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