I begg you
To kiss my salty cheeks
lead me through the mighty jungle
be my light in the dark
can you please take my
sorrow
and cure my broken heart?
I’m on my knees
To begg you
To ease my pain
Amen.

Silver ink snaking, slithering, sparkling like
drops of liquid starshine, night-sky blood
against such a blank and frightening ocean!
A map with no places, latitude no longitude,
stacked on one another like skin, punctured flesh
throbbing under aching fingers, scratching, scratching --
Wood on paper, etching the past in words,
the same naked quill I used to slit my soul
and slice open a hurting heart, once beating now bleeding
black and crimson pools of little light letters:
a lonely puddle, a mirror-pond, dabs of grey
in that white sea,
ivory sea,
silent sea,
hidden sea.

I didn’t start actually enjoying coffee until I was eleven.
The first time I drank a full cup it was followed by ten more.
It was the first day my mother was in the hospice house.

I started drinking coffee on a pretty solid basis while I was there,
I teamed it with my nutella sandwiches,
This was back when I was unconcerned about my weight.

I often watched the sunrise.
I watched it climb over the sky until the very moment it was blue,
Only a few other people would be awake besides the nurses and I,
I felt calm. For a long second.

I remember watching the sunrise and thinking everything would be okay,
Sipping my coffee, wrapped in a blanket,
Calm.

It was like that the day she died.
I stopped drinking coffee.

It wasn’t until I was fifteen I started drinking coffee on a regular basis again,
I used it to comfort me the first hour of the day,
But then it was just a burden to be carried.
This went on for two months before I just.. Stopped taking coffee.
I started drinking a friends, instead.

Sometimes, anyways.

Part of me wonders if I should start taking it again,
Let it warm me up when I wait for the bus and maybe,
Maybe bring my mother close to me.

It used to be impossible to see me without a coffee cup in my hand.

Now it is rare.
I wonder if it is my mother trying to get me to stop grieving.
Because I connect my coffee to her.

Today's cup tastes exactly like hers.