OVER A CUP OF COFFEE

Waxy green leaves yield white
flowers, dainty, perfume the nights
bear berries, green ripening to red
waiting to be transformed
in my grandmother’s hands.

Milled, laid out under the blistering sun
hulled and roasted to perfection
dark as the dark rain soaked earth
ground up at last to release
that heady aroma that wake the gods
rise from the cup that warms my hands

each morning I savor the potent brew
and the memories that it renews –
the times with Grandmother when we picked
coffee berries, red and sweet;
the times when family and friends would gather
with only their stories and coffee to share.

~~~~~

This is my rendition of my Grandmother’s coffee mill. I borrowed it from my old blog which I set up to put into writing my memories of the culture I grew up in.

DVERSE POETS’ PUB’s Bjorn wants us to write about trees this weekend.   After playing with several ideas, a dinner conversation about cacao and coffee trees made me decide to write about something familiar – coffee trees.  In this way, I am also able to remember my maternal grandmother with whom I spent many childhood hours picking fruits of one kind or another. 🙂

 

Thank you for coming by.  Do check out the responses of our poet friends.

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20 thoughts on “OVER A CUP OF COFFEE”

  1. I do indeed wake up with coffee in the morning. Hail to the coffee tree then. Thanks for reminding me where coffee is from. It’s not produced by the local food store, it’s from a Tree!

    1. I remember it being a lot of work but it was a lot of fun, too. However, drying coffee entailed some waiting. Since we relied on the sun, the length of drying time was dependent on the elements.

  2. I love the personal share, memories & drawing ~ I never had an experience of picking coffee berries; just regular berries from the backyard ~ Have a good week ~

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