Greek Coffee

February 14, 2017

There are grinds in my coffee,

lost souls in my soup

alive and well in the Paris

we left behind.

 

These jitterbug hands that can’t

wash away the language of

starry eyes and

I can’t read the grinds

 

(not this time…)

 

so now the future sleeps

between salt and pepper, torn sugar

packets and half-eaten wheat

bread, lightly toasted

 

and soaked in memory.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Every Monday, GJC will be sharing a poem from John T. Trigonis, a local JC Heights resident, poet, writer, and coffee aficionado, in our Monday Musings.

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