Epithelial

coffee cup

Epithelial

by Michele Habel-Coffey

My fingers trace the outlines of my cup…

Lingering circles, damp with coffee

And with dead epithelials- words unspoken

Sloughed off by the heat of the black liquid

Stimulated edges of nerves

Tactile truths

Give way to fresh, soft lips

And caffeinated hope

Early Sunday Morning by Edward Hirsch

Image

I used to mock my father and his chums

for getting up early on Sunday morning

and drinking coffee at a local spot

but now I’m one of those chumps.

 

No one cares about my old humiliations

but they go on dragging through my sleep

like a string of empty tin cans rattling

behind an abandoned car.

 

It’s like this: just when you think

you have forgotten that red-haired girl

who left you stranded in a parking lot

forty years ago, you wake up

 

early enough to see her disappearing

around the corner of your dream

on someone else’s motorcycle

roaring onto the highway at sunrise.

 

And so now I’m sitting in a dimly lit

cafe full of early morning risers

where the windows are covered with soot

and the coffee is warm and bitter.