Napo 27

Today's prompt was to write about taste. I like to eat. So it wasn't too hard :)

Bitter Coffee

I’m four years old. I’m sitting at the foot

Of my mother’s bed. The sun streams

Through the dusty curtains as she takes a sip

Of coffee from her cup. Her eyes flutter shut

In pleasure, a pleasure I don’t understand.

That day, I get my first taste of bitterness

As she rises from the bed and holds her head

In her hands. I’ll drink in her pain as I steal

A sip from her lukewarm mug of darkness.

Saturday morning sugar cereal. Skittles rainbows.

Ice cream the color of the August Texas sky,

Starbursts bursting in the mouth with joy,

Raspas dulcet on the summer tongue.

If only the palette remained so simple,

A Pollyanna only craving sweetness,

beating heart like a hummingbird’s,

pure and furious, wide-eyed always

with wonder and fear. But soon,

I’ll emerge from this Eden of childhood,

Eager to wrap my lips around the flavors

Of pain, of puckering, of bitterness:

The sour tang of lemon squeezed

On cold ceviche. The fire of curry

Purging nostrils clean with smoke.

The bitterness of coffee in the morning.

The world will throw theses tastes

At me – might as well learn to enjoy them.

But for now, I’m four years old, grimacing

At the taste of coffee, wondering how

My mother finds the strength to rise.