Something New

By Neima Nour

Opening the big red doors to that new American restaurant across the street, the old man yelled, “I'm telling ya, they’re taking over Florence, block by block!” 
Hearing this, I stepped into the restaurant. “What's going on here?” 
There were blue and green lavender scented candles above each table held up by cotton ropes attached to the ceiling, 
upside down cakes 
and walking blueberry muffins 
and pies with hands and feet dangling purses from the sides, 
inside out dining tables, 
flying teapots and kettles,
talking pasta strips, 
boiling lemonade and icy cold coffee cups hovering over chocolate fountains
dancing violins over books, 
over books,
over books! 
Singing macaroons in a row lined one through five, 
and both the strangest and tallest people above everything else 
and I mean, literally above everything else. 
There were waiters with long slim legs each a couple of inches longer or shorter than the other, 
and heads that barely grazed the surface of the ceiling, so high you'd need binoculars to see them and a microphone for them to hear you. 
And who ran this outrageous facility you may ask? Look right below your feet, 
Into the carved hole in the wall. 
And close one eye and squint the other and maybe you'll catch a glimpse of some fairy wings and rainbow-colored sprinkles.