Caffeine High, Caffeine Low

By Gail Ghai
I teeter-totter between selections
settle on mocha, being slave
to both masters, coffee and chocolate.
 
Sipping the familiar sweetness
my mind moves across the map,
stops in a Midwestern city
 
where a man enters his marbled kitchen,
plugs in his Krups grinder,
a farewell gift from me.
 
He taps the vibrating
bean-bursting blade.
Snaps open the lid.
 
As he inhales the hazelnut rush
does he think of our mornings together,
exchanging sections of the paper?
 
When he measures the brown crystals
is my face ever brought to the light?
A face, sometimes bitter at our distances,
 
missing his cappuccino eyes,
warm cups of his hands,
my Chetan, my son.
 
 
Gail Ghai

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