Farm to Cup

Walking The Farm

I make an early rise to check on the trees, inherited from father four years ago.
The rains were heavy early in the year, a good sign.
The last trees father chose should be ready for their first harvest.
His influence still covers the hillside, encouraging and intimidating me.
The workers will be arriving soon, ready to pick the bright red fruit.
Many of them knew father, mourned with us.
I wonder if they have confidence in my abilities or worry as much about the future as I do.
Then comes a few weeks of stirring, rotating, and hoping for strong sun,
until the batches are the perfect parchment.
Father had a knack for knowing when it was time.
He'd get out of bed one morning and announce,
"Ready the hulling machines."
As a child, I loved to help with the manual sorting.
I think father liked giving me a small task near so many adults,
even if my work needed checking over.
Now, my favorite part is the sisal bags stacked up and ready to go.
It feels like an end to the hard part,
but in some ways the planning between seasons is the most difficult.
That's when I wish I could still ask for father's advice.


Cupper

Nose, roast, crack, rest.
Nose, slurp, repeat.
100 tastes a day
To find the perfect blend.
Every seed has a story
Of rainfall, sun, and wind.
The attitude and altitude
Of the farmer and the land
Influence the flavors
Of the beans in my hands.
Floral, chocolate, toasty,
Tangy, acidic, sweet.


Conversation of Questions
Heya!
How are you doing?
What can I get ya?
Big or small?
Extra shot?
Room for cream?
Anything else?
Here or to go?
Do you have a punch card?
Need a reciept?
Thanks!


Cup of Clouds

Swirling clouds of cream push to the bottom,
Half settling and half mixing,
A visual for the science behind density and solutions.

Rippled edges like afternoon tide pools.
Little peaks of color fighting to find equilibrium
Between layers of mahogany, burlap, and fresh cut pine.

Take a sip or give it a spin
To see more blending, more gradations.
Until it's all one,
Or all gone.


There are a steps left out, but four poems felt like enough for a series.

Palate

Two striped shirts walk into the coffee house
one white and navy, one black and white and tweedy
It's so cute in here! (Their first visit)
Loud voices, bright and happy
Friendly, unpushy sales (after ordering coffee)
Like approachable cheerleaders
Saying y'all
More casual than business, but still professional
Friends and colleagues
Easy laughter and a short sing along
Swirling sugar and cream
Sharing a little brightness on a rainy day



Palate is a local coffee house that I love visiting, and they're actually a non-profit.

Last Night

Poetry Jam suggested writing a poetic still life, whether one set up and captured by yourself or one found and enjoyed. I looked about my living room, and these objects jumped out at me, telling at least part of a story.

We decided on coffee and dessert.

Those two pair up quite nicely.

I think that you and I

pair quite nicely.

We had run out of coffee and

shouldn't eat a whole pint.

We had a few drinks

and kept talking.

We talked for hours about nothing

and everything while our

chatter blended into 

one great night.

Submitted to Poetry Picnic Week 14: What I'm Thankful For

I'm thankful for my friends and boyfriend who inspired the spirit of this poem and the beer, iceream, cute martini glass and coffee that make up the story.