Magic in a Mug

An Ode to My Cup of Joe

In the morning I wake and drag myself

into the kitchen.

eyes hardly open, shoulders slumped,

I press the ‘on’ button.

everything ready, in my past self’s

attempt to comfort me now.

Sometimes I wait, standing there,

listening to that familiar hum and cough.

I open the cupboard, and blindly select a mug.

It fits perfectly into the curve of my hand.

The sun peeks through my blinds and

a comforting, familiar aroma fills my nostrils.

As the sun greets me, I fill my cup.

I gingerly take a sip, a little too hot,

just as I like it.

Today, I wake with a start.

I fling off my covers and run to the

kitchen.

God bless my past self for understanding

my tendencies to oversleep.

As the percolator sputters to life,

I race to my room.

I pull a pair of tights off the top of my

hamper, give them a sniff and tug them on.

My skirt is wrinkled, my top a little loose,

as I begin to feel discouraged

that familiar scent drafts my way.

I take a deep breath as I pull on my docs,

no time to tie now.

Slinging my bag over my shoulder,

I notice my to-go cup shoved in the corner

of my room.

That will need a rinse, I think as I clomp back

to the kitchen. My untied shoes sliding as

I run.

Turn on the faucet, rinse, spin, pour, and

out the door I go.

The contents of that to-go cup are my

saving grace.

It is 11PM.

I am staring at a blank computer screen.

My past self has really done it this time.

This paper is due in 9 hours and I have

nothing.

It is going to be a long night.

I sigh and head to the kitchen.

Waiting for me, like a devoted companion is my

coffeemate.

I grab a filter, pile in lumps of grounds,

fill the tank and press ‘on’.

I turn to the cupboard.

This time my mug choice is specific.

Saved for special occasions, it is

emblazoned with a saying that is

equally encouraging and crude.

I fill it to the brim, adjust myself behind

my screen. And set my finders on

the keyboard.

Whether I be racing

to get to class on time,

or basking in the sunshine of a

perfect Sunday morning,

or willing myself to stay awake for a

project overdue,

I trust that I will find,

a cup in my hand.

contents a little too hot,

aroma ever-pleasant

my consistent, companion

coffee.