Grief and Loss — Coffee Memories

Drinking Coffee in the Now

Small Kitchens and Coffee

I wake each morning to the sounds of my coffee maker,
gurgling, hissing — water rolling to boil,
drifting rich with the scent of past mornings.

Memories of small kitchens we shared,
bumping into each other, preparing breakfast,
laughing with each ‘Oops,’ hugging life together.

Memories of sitting across from each other,
sipping, smiling, exchanging silent messages,
breathing deeply the life we shared.

Small kitchens brought us close,
confirming that important yes
to a lifetime and beyond.

Eight seasons have passed—
I drink my coffee alone
in a kitchen too small.

~~~

A Conversation with Sol

Sol: Mits, may I ask you something?

Mits: Of course.

Sol: This poem begins with an ordinary morning—coffee brewing, a small kitchen, memories of breakfasts together. Why coffee? Why not begin with grief itself?

Mits: I remember when… when mornings were cups of coffee, each of us sipping, our eyes saying, “Good morning.” A bond we shared at the start of each day.
These memories now begin with a fresh cup of coffee in my hand … and the image of another cup … empty. It takes me back to what was, saying a quiet thank you for the loving life we shared.
Memories of grief are hard to express. But these memories now soften the grief that has long lived in me. I hope my answer makes sense.

Sol: The last line of your poem stayed with me: “I drink my coffee alone in a kitchen too small.” The kitchen didn’t become smaller. What became too small?

Mits: Sol, in my poem I mentioned sharing life together in small kitchens. We never complained about how small they were. In fact, we enjoyed the closeness they gave us.
When I wrote the last stanza and said that eight seasons had passed, I remembered those seasons… sitting, drinking my coffee alone. The kitchen hadn’t become smaller. My life had. What had once been a small kitchen for two had become a kitchen for one.

Sol:Thank you for sharing these memories and the story behind your poem.

~~~

If this conversation resonated with you, I invite you to continue exploring: Grief. Road Alone. Shared Paths. You can also return to this website by typing ekmitsunaga.com into your browser, where additional poems, reflections, conversations and writings continue to be shared.
— Sol A.