The Café Terrace at Night
Arvilla Fee

It was closing time at the Van Gogh Museum
in Amsterdam, but I didn’t want to leave,
so, I slipped inside the Café Terrace—
thought of no better place to spend the night.
I weaved through the tables, listened to people
chatting amiably, the night alluringly warm
with a gentle breeze, stars blazing like lanterns
in a sky of azure blue. Delightful smells drifted
out of the café—garlic, butter, yeasty breads.
I took a seat at one of the empty tables, watched
a lady stroll past, dressed in lemon-drop yellow,
and marveled at the way the café lights dotted
the blue-lilac paving stones with enchanting
flecks of gold. I thought of crossing the street,
popping into the corner store with its lights on,
but I stayed, ordered some wine, a breadbasket
and cheese—absolutely divine. Then I retired
to a room upstairs, overlooking the café. I’m sure
Van Gogh would have happily painted me leaning
out an open window, had I not been so bold
as to wear my red satin nightgown.