Brewing Poem by Ena Nin

a good day starts with ground beans,
cold water freshly drawn a must
like fresh memories to jot,
pour it like free verse

brewing coffee every morning,
like grooming lines every evening
stirs and invites flowing thoughts,
as intoxicating as caffeine jolt,
intertwining for a blend of poetic living

listening to thoughts while snuffing up
the rich piquant scent of the roasted dark
coffee, clouds rising to reach me in motion
its aroma serenading an onset of reflections…

i remember the exactness of those mornings,
no more or no less can spoil the day
two heaping tablespoons of the same brand
for each 6 ounces of cold water, for years
i much preferred the medium grind
somehow managed to use the coarse kind
was told it was the best, why I never doubted
it had to be consumed within 20 minutes
of being brewed, not after
serving it frothing in a beige cup was crucial
and with ghost of white mist forming, spiraling up,
perfect amount of brown sugar and cream,
on a tray with the morning paper;
it was a perfect metered verse
for the fussiest

but starbucks is now around the corner
and life has more to offer...