I brew coffee in a French press and pour it into a blender. With a tablespoon I take a large amount of coconut oil and place it in the hot coffee. The heat slides it off the spoon. I often stop there, but one can always carry things beyond.
The full recipe which I am writing down for the first time right now goes further. I add a tablespoon of butter or some cream, but not always, and then spices because if I don’t eat them they will stay on the shelf: cinnamon, ginger, nutmeg, cloves, black pepper, turmeric and pink salt.
I blend these ingredients for a few breaths and pour it into a mug. I wonder if it is still coffee? It doesn’t taste like a colada or Cuban espresso which wakes me up, since I drink it alone, on those dawn walks when I wait for the sunrise with the birds. It might even be a kind of soup, but the buzz of clarity that aligns my awareness to reality tells me it doesn’t matter.
MOST LEAVES HAVE LONG GONE
BERRIES PROUDLY ON DISPLAY
HOME FOR TINY BIRDS
Text: Linked to dVerse Poetics. Paul is hosting with the theme of poems about drinking.
Photos: “Berries”, above, “Winter Vegetation”, below.
Poetry, Short Prose and Walking 