Sometimes, on a quiet afternoon,
I like to brew a pot of coffee,
very strong coffee,
and sit at the kitchen table
pretending that he’s here.
We sip carefully from our cups
like in the good days.
There are long pauses of silence
between talk of family, taxes, work, various aches,
It does us both good,
like dropping a load off somewhere.
easing our respective burdens.
But it’s not so much the weight
as the airing:
aroma-ed offerings rising with the steam.
Eventually, the coffee finished, he gets up to leave.
We wish each other well.
I watch from the door as he goes off,
fading like the coffee vapors.
I find this ritual comforting,
on a quiet afternoon.
Carmen Leone© 2011