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.