a love letter to sipping coffee

Dear coffee sipping,

   Slowly slowly

savoring the taste

   póle, póle

not yallah, yallah.

Feeling the energy seep back

   into my veins,

pulsing through me.

    Excitement

         of all kinds

and a sort of Love,

     I suppose.

They say that Croatians can make one espresso

    last for hours

in a tiny cup

while they chatter at a café.

    So can Omar, our Moroccan guide:

a single, tiny espresso

     in a paper cup

lasts all day

     with miniature sips,

     mini-doses

of taste and spark

on a long drive -

      a modern day caravan

through the North African landscape

     framed by three Atlas mountain chains

(one in the Daraa valley

      stretchs 150 kms

to the end of the road

      to Mhamid – Omar’s hometown

beyond which there is only

      Sahara sand,

the dunes of nomads,

reaching into Algeria, Mauritania, Mali).

   And still

always one sip of coffee

   remains

to be treasured.

The Japanese

   have their tea rituals -

beautiful, I am sure

   though I have never tried.

For me

   it is coffee

my morning coffee ceremony

    the purr of the Breville

my choice of bowl or mug or cup

    the grind, the scent

black gold streaming

     infused with velvety milk,

            just enough,

     and topped with a dot of foam.

And then, sip

          sip sip sip

come into the dark

       of the morn

          sip sip sip

as the sky lightens

   the birds chatter

   and I write

          read

                savor poetry,

the words melding

    with my sips

and bringing me back

into this world,

     ready now

to live my day.