PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

 Every Sunday morning was a bliss, the smell of fresh coffee flooded our house and suddenly all we could feel was peace. Those mornings were something like a ritual, first we would all wake up and after eating, she would prepare her favorite coffee roast. Those mornings, where the only bad news we could ever hear were “there’s no coffee left”, were our favorite days of the week. My mother was praised for her coffee, she liked it strong, and I remember a lot of people saying that they even felt anxiety and butterflies after having a cup of her intense brew. Even so, family and friends would constantly visit my mom and ask her if she could do some of her nerve wracking coffee. Everything in the process had a special technique, the way she would pour the water into the coffee maker, the coffee she bought even the sugar she offered, she had it all planned for her guests. I remember not wanting any other coffee, why would I want something like a Starbucks when I had a coffee artisan at home? She liked to keep it different, like when she bought a French press and oh my… the coffee she made with that French press was a masterpiece for me, the scent, the flavor, everything about it was incredible, it was pure. Even the coffee cups were carefully selected, we would go cup shopping because they had to be big enough, but at the same time not too big so we could hold them comfortably. We would also get her favorite roast, that was from Oaxaca and had a smell that invaded our senses. After a bad day or an exhausting week, my mother would make coffee and my sister and I would get together with her and talk about our days while drinking it, these moments always made us feel better and at the same time they would bring us closer. Eventually her coffee became part of our daily life, it was like a habit. As of today, my sister and I try to imitate her technique, always receiving comments like, “it’s good, but not as good as your mother’s”, but deep down we know that hers was unique and we can´t make it as peculiar as she did. Now every time I smell coffee, the image of her pops into my mind, and to remember her, my sister and I make her favorite roast, always making it feel like home.