Always early morning,

when the quiet nudges me awake.

Then the fridge hums,

and the computer fan whisper syncs.

In a trance, I hope the kettle

cooperates for my mandatory

pour over.

 

Pour over coffee…

On what grounds?

Might I incriminate myself?

The process gives me pause, literally.

Have you ever prepared a pour over?

It’s like being in the Army…

Hurry up, then wait.

 

The weight of it all

while I wake is what grinds me.

On a good day I’ll distract,

watch the weather report between pours,

fiddle with my phone etc.

On a better day I will look and listen.

I observe the brown noise falling.

 

They say the two inches of oxygen

between the cone of milled beans

and the awaiting mug

enhances the flavor.

If I close my eyes and open

my imagination I hear the trickle

of a brook, and the mending of my mind.

 

A prayer of sorts, as I sort through

yesterday, and prepare for today.

I thank God for coffee,

then poor over the humanity,

mine, yours, the world’s.

I grab my mug of brew,

and cream it with “Lord have mercy.”