Unrequited Love with Coffee

The Alchemical Kitchen

"Coffee is not my cup of tea." Author Unknown

Unrequited Love with Coffee

by Teresa Thorman

Coffee beans roasted and freshly ground 

with steamed frothy and creamy milk 

poured into handcrafted clay mug

sits in perfect landscape waiting...

for that first sip... while the aroma 

offers memories of lovemaking 

and fireside chats, 

of writing at dawn as the first 

rays of light pour inspired words 

like ink into my pen.

Watercolor by Teresa Thorman

The smell of memories waft

and linger but oh the taste 

of that liquid brown gold 

confirms the quiet in life, 

the stillness of evening,

the hush before inspiration whirls...

a perfect match, coffee and me.

Adrenal fatigue slyly dropped by

and stayed for years on the side

snitching and munching on energy bits

discreetly replaced by coffee refills.

Seratonin skipped her visits to the brain

thus rhythm of sleep cried out at night, 

while mood in balance teetered to and fro.

Anger came in to keep the peace and

affronted he was when resistance rebelled!

A viscous cycle ensued... 

anxiety and stress the hamster 

on the adrenal wheel chasing a love 

no beginning, no end.

Liquid brown scrap is really the dross

The metal that poisons, deadens and rots

both brain and gut and squashes the heart.

But wait! I feel a pulse of a faintly beating heart

that pulls a memory from long ago

in Tante Lisa’s Garden of Eden where

God’s gifts were my pure delight:

The creek with its frogs, the trees full 

of walnuts, apples, plums and cherries;

fresh picked rasberries made into jam, 

potatoes and carrots right from the ground

and salad bedecked with radish and tomato.

A table is set with cut roses 

where family and friends gather to partake

in the substance sprung from a kitchen with joy 

and stories are shared

and songs are sung

and poetry recited

and love alights 

renewed and reborn

in every moment

we choose

to transform

what is dross

that deadly lead

into gold.

Mixed Media by Teresa Thorman

I had fun writing that poem, knowing of course, that coffee does not affect everyone in the same way it affects me.  It wreaks havoc in my body, and yet; my father, who is 83 years old, rarely skips a day of black coffee with sugar and loves a good afternoon espresso when he visits our house.  Different strokes for different folks.  So, back to tea it is.  Yes, I will have to face that deep, deep longing when I smell coffee, and that perfect morning that begs for a cup, and that crisp craving calling to complete a perfect moment captured in a cappuccino...yep.  Stand in the river of your coffee grief and ask for a cup of tea:)

Acrylic and pen by Teresa Thorman