Coffee Poem by Hans Ostrom

Of course the coffee nodule
is neither cherry nor berry,
just as you are neither you nor

you before "you" hold the ceramic
cup in that sacred way and weigh
it gratefully, and wait for your hands

to say when the temperature
of the darkness
will love your tongue and mouth

best. You sip and smell
simultaneously. You are soothed.
You are less dim. The sun

rises just above the blue rim
of your stupor. Shapes of
thought become visible,

work becomes viable,
wants become focused.
O thank you Arabia,

thank you Ethiopia,
thank you Sudan and South
America, Indonesia...

Such chants continue
silently in your mind,
which small sips of shade

have clarified. Your heart
stumbles into a pace
that brings awareness

to your brain in soft
brown sacks. You begin to flirt
with thought, consider

sociability, tolerate noise,
nearly nod Yes tolife.
You want to tell coffee again

that you love it, but you're not
quite ready to speak,
and anyway coffee knows.
coffee knows, knows what you need.



hans ostrom 2020