Vintage Coffee

Still a major poetic trope in my life. So much more than a beverage, the hinge of my conversations, the olfactory quest, the perfect accompaniment to jazz, to tragedy, to happiness, to work, to rest. It goes with everything--the metaphor of my landscape. I could write an ode to the way it rushes up to meet the cream--the way, together, they make a tumultuous cloud of violent swirling before they give in to each other.

After a delightful Sunday in which Sarah and I met a mutual friend at Fazzini's in the suburbs, we made our way down to Caribou coffee in that place in between city and suburbs, and I sipped a truly mediocre cuppa. A shadow of what java should be.

And I realized that all a mediocre cup of joe does is make me long more deeply. In some ways, even a bad coffee experience is still all right. There's always the hope of the perfect cup...