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Poetry: Coffee

I consider a cup
Of coffee
Even though
It makes me sick.
The caffeine, the taste
Of wet ash,
The sour smell
Of my mother’s breath
In the morning
And the kitchen
At home
Where she sits.

I have not gone near it,
But now wish
For anything
Hot, and put out;
Something
That absorbs the transparency
Of ice
Into itself
And stays black,
And gets comfortable.

Yes,
It makes my stomach ache
But it has ached
Alone
For some time
Now
Without reason
And needs one.

 

 

All Rights Reserved to Evy Bround

Poetry: Suejin Suh

Poetry: Beginner