Poetry 2014 Shortlist, Supriya Kaur Dhaliwal

THREE EMPTY CUPS OF COFFEE

Wider atop,
four and a half inches long,
while the nethermost base is slender,
providing no room for the blender
to crush those fine brown coffee beans-
the finest of Arabica Robusta.

Filled with water, powder and sugary granules,
I set a pot on the stove.
Up and down they hop, as if they have been released to rove.

The liquid brews readily,
but the cup refuses to welcome
the chestnut rum,
ossifying its cryptic verdict
which is obscured to the tune that this drink hums.

I had to pour it into my kettle,
oval and long; made up of hazel metal.
The minute-hand ran too fast,
the clock stood still
but ironically, too many hours had past
since the sun kissed my backyard.

I rushed into the bathroom
and then to the kitchen,
gobbling the aroma of
cologne entwined with cocoa.

Beneath the granite shelf
lay two more cups-
fat and long as their stubborn sibling.
Hastily, I poured the coffee in the first.
Sadly, the mug was not howling with thirst.
A deluge splattered through the pothole
blemishing my Ralph Lauren shirt.

A suffice amount of coffee still waited in the kettle
as if I’d been expecting my beau.
I picked up the second cup. Gross! It bid adieu.
The hand-grip loosened, the repository broke,
leaving behind nothing to poke.

Three cups reduced to trash.
Oh Granny! They were your reminiscent.
Did they crash
because your comatose is infinite?