Rites of Passage

Every day at noon
I prepare the coffee
grind the beans
set the coffee maker
bold
extra hot
Peruvian
Columbian grinds too flaky
Louisiana grinds overloaded with chicory

Peruvian is for thinkers
not for ponderers
nor slackers
chicory takes us back
to poverty-stricken times
when any blend of coffee would suffice
any temperature of “hot”
when coffee was a special gift
to look forward to
a ritual of the gods
and after an inspection of the grinds
we’d determine our future
if we would marry
live a long life
or die that very day
it was all in the shaping of the illustrious grinds

The ghosts would rise with the steam
we’d inhale them through our nostrils
with that chicory undertone
and when we exhaled ……
when we let the spirits twirl around us
with the faintest hint of cashew and caramel
we believed our paths had divine trajectory

Beware coffee wanna be’s
we were in that grind
since the beginning
with tin cups
under the moon
where the devil spoke
and we heeded his warnings
every step of the way
while phantoms sang through the smoke
of our fires