-a seasonal poem for Jenny-

I recall visiting people

during the time in my life

as a young adult when

I'd look forward to the visiting of people.

It was an era of communion of

personal interaction, a bonding of sorts

with others of my kind.

when invited, the visits were

for the most part, enjoyable

and the company of others

was almost always warm and

inviting.

then they served the coffee.

looking through the frequently

transparent glassware cups,
the festive glassware reserved for company
during the seasonal celebration,

one could peer beyond the lightly etched glass
of snowflakes and snow-capped hillsides, into
and through the sickly liquid to the other side of the room,

a weak translucence, a see-through liquid of something,

a liquid reminiscent of a watery form of purgatory where
the coffee may be served, but what is served is instead
a high venial sin.

home again and

dishes are piled-high in the sink,

I’m down to seeds and stems and one pair of socks.

but the coffee’s a pure, mud-luscious,

opaque black angel, perked and poured
from the pot to the mug and..ahhhhh, the glowing!

                           “mud-luscious” is respectfully

                             lifted from e.e.Cumings