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.


  1. "I'll emerge from this Eden of childhood" - Love that - inspirational... Well done


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