another poem with coffee in it

No Filter

Today I made coffee

as my grandfather showed

me. Heartily boiling the loose grounds 

in a small sauce pan and 

pouring it through a strainer. 

My son still sleeping.

The key is to let a crust

form that you then puncture

and stir. And to let it 

steep before drinking.

I can still picture him in his patterned robe-

the belt tied below his belly-

a smile - his kitchen perfectly

set up like a doll house. As he explained

the nuances to me. 

When he showed me, though too young to

even drink coffee, I marveled

at his morning routine, a secret,

it seemed, just for me. 

June 2015

Shittin' Kitten!

At some point

the coffee begins

to taste like centipedes.

You shriek w delight:

"You defeated little 

fur ball. (It feels so free.)

I'm a shittin' kitten!"

You breathed your breaths

in between mine.

I breathed every other

time.

You breathed in between

mine. 

The soul of the bread

is the best part.

The inside.

BK June 2015

Sitting in the Car

The Guitar Lesson

Windshield wiping

sloppily, dragging wet

blood-moth side to side.

While I wait for you-

walking out of your guitar

lesson, straight hair

reaching to your

eyelashes, pushing chairs in,

marking scratch cards

while I wait for you. My

whole life for you to arrive

and for time not to fly.

Falsehoods and Boomerangs

Friday: The Wedding 

Following the labyrinthine corridor 

in exile to the powder room,

checking -the cat faces -

painted prettily on my nails.

Her foxtail corkscrewed in, to

all matter of earthen falsehoods.

A conspicuous fool

boomeranging off 

others' dispossession.

The same lush green cypress tree

cascades for both of us. Spirited

while you forget - and buried while I 

remember.

BK

May 2015