Aline’s
Coffee
I
saw for the first time
your
beauty,
casual
as a flower.
I
noticed you as I was
stepping
off a morning train
and
then I came to know you,
making
sense of your presence
with
my sleepy eyes and mind.
You
looked expectant
and
also matter-of-fact
about
possibilities
before
you.
We
talked,
and
even your nervousness
delighted:
It
looked like a form of play.
We
drank Canadian caffeine
at
Tim Hortons, and your shared words
conducted
heat and pleasantry
and
strong character
like
South American
coffee
beans,
which
you sipped from girl to woman;
those
better beans characterized
your
early impressions of warmth.
I
had a friend once
who
told me that nicotine stench
was
for her a maternal
and
comforting fragrance,
because
her mother always
buttoned
up her tiny coat
before
sending her to school
and
her mother’s fingers smelled strongly
of
cigarettes! Desperate cylinders,
But
the scent was not associated
with
self-destructive habit.
It
was a comfort smell
because
cigarettes comforted
her
supreme comforter.
And
so I think for you
the
rich aroma
of
beans from South America
evokes
nostalgia and formation
equally
as powerful as the taste.
In
a future month,
you
would admit
“it’s
just funny
that
you guys think that you drink coffee.”
You
would describe our coffee as
“truly
tea of coffee with caffeine inside.”
And
I so I learned more
about
Colombian and Brazilian coffees
that
shaped you
by
repeating their comfort
to
the fullest extent, in countless memories.
I
learned that coffee,
the
second most traded commodity,
enables
the artistic element
when
connoisseurs discuss
body,
aroma, and legends
unlocked
by brewing.
But
in this memory,
with
lower beverages between us,
in
a yearning province and snow nation,
I
looked at you and tried to feel you
through
the numbing effects
of
my own fatigue,
and
through that sleepiness
you
found and awoke me
and
we visited the open grass
of
a park, near a university
in
the middle of a bustling city.
What
is a man supposed to say,
once
captured by the sight of a woman?
We
often say “you’re beautiful,”
Because
it seems wrong to say
“Congratulations
on your body.”
That
undermines the compliment,
and
such congratulations are deserved
by
every soul miraculously
encased.
The
tree branches above us rebalanced,
careful
in the summer breeze,
and
patches of light danced upon you
as
if the sun was as excited as me
by
what he saw.
And
we could feel a bang
on
the shores of our hearts,
and
a very real rumble beneath our backs.
“Is
that a train?” I asked, and you said it was,
pointing
to the subway station
at
the corner of the court,
And
I found it wildly amusing, that for us
We
were convinced we were on top of grass,
Temporarily
delivered to the natural land
When,
in fact, we were on the roof
of
a concrete cave containing
crowded
passengers, all submitting
to
times and coordinated schedules,
Unaware
that over their heads
A
man and young woman
rested
and adjusted to newfound comfort,
rebels
in their randomness.
I
touched you, leaned over you,
And
we kissed while prevailing
over
that subtle rumble.
The
totality of my desire,
All
I wanted to monopolize:
She
breathed gently between my chest
and
vibrating earth.
David Pring-Mill
David Pring-Mill is a writer and filmmaker. His writing has appeared in The Los Angeles Times, The National Interest, openDemocracy, and elsewhere. He also edited the literary anthology "Tiny Moments." Over 80 of his poems have been published to date. Follow him online: www.pring-mill.com, twitter.com/davesaidso
Tags:
Poetry