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 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.”