The Empty Cup
An empty coffee cup once held black coffee.
This cup was once full.
Curls of white steam lifting from the black surface
Rippling with breath and the tremble of nervousness.
It once warmed my palms,
Pressed joy into my cold veins.
.
Its emptiness is stark.
Some mornings, when the fog hugs the home
And memories fuzz,
I can feel the weight of its fullness in my hands,
See it on the trees like winter berries.
.
It isn't there anymore.
The berries have fallen, rotted, and left fallow seeds behind.
My hands are empty.
There is no warmth to ease the frost in my blood
Nor are there dreams to heat my thoughts.
.
Where are the dreams we spent piecing together?
There is an abyss where warm Sunday morning coffee
Made its delicate home
Out of tree branches, laughter, and too-long pyjamas.
Where is the memory of that crooked smile,
The uneven path to a future?
.
Emptied.
.
I slept with the black shadow of a winter eclipse
And drank the warm dreams of summer lightning bugs
From pale lips glistening with gathered words
That I had dropped into my cup,
Spilled into the dead of night.
.
The moss that gathered in your eyes has dried and gone,
Leaving an absence so acute
I have no recourse but to flounder,
Drown in an empty cup full of invisible moments,
Memories of twinkling eyes dead by sunrise.
.
Where are you resting now?
Which star shall I track to prove I have not forgotten?
My hands are too cold to reach through the abyss
And my spirit too weak to plunge into the depths.
So tell me, tell me please where in this night sky are you hiding?
.
I want to gather the morning dew from your lips and taste
The honeyed spice of your lingering dreams.
These shadows are more corporeal than my memories
But I know you are there, within some hidden cove,
Waiting for the breath of sunrise to thaw our frozen, emptied cups.
.
Silver Serpent Books
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About the Creator
Silver Serpent Books
Writer. Interested in all the rocks people have forgotten to turn over. There are whole worlds under there, you know. Dark ones too, even better.
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