Coffee Pot

a morning percolating
on my stovetop
builds a bubble of nostalgia

I sip in a Sunday
any day of the week

the aroma transports me
to all the European places
I’ve paused in
and invites me to slow down

we made a meditation
every day, before speaking
pouring stillness
into little cups

in concentrated silence
we conversed through ground beans

I make my own coffee now
brew it in a moka pot
I bought myself

a short black oozes in my bloodstream
and each morning is my birthday