Sunday: morning coffee

I woke to the rain painting the windows;

abstract polka dots and rivers.

I woke to the silence of sleep,

your body beside me, wrapped in cotton sheets;

your breath whistling to and fro.


The rule is: whoever wakes first

makes the coffee, so I slip on

my dressing gown and my flip flops

too cold for September becoming October,

and take the stairs and hallway to the kitchen.


The rain is still bent on making a masterpiece

of the double glazed glass;

reflecting the green of the trees

onto the sink and cups which are drying.


Your custom is: to prepare the mugs and coffee

for the morning, a spoon in one

and the kettle waiting to be boiled.

This morning is the same as any other,

except you have left me a note

on blue bordered paper – a poem in fact –

which begins with the words

‘I love you’.


I imagine you smiling as you wrote it,

I re-read it four more times

as the kettle bubbles and steams.

I re-read it again as I fill each mug

and stir in the milk; I inhale

the scent of coffee and peace.


I thank the rain for the dreary start,

I thank you for the words

which I have closeted already

deep within my heart.



Poem: © Kristiana Reed 2019

Between the Trees UK

Between the Trees US

Available internationally

8 thoughts on “Sunday: morning coffee

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