I drink coffee every morning; almost every afternoon, too. Coffee just makes things better, and I feel its absence keenly if I don’t have it.
A good cup of coffee is a complex elixir, a number of lovely qualities perfectly and inseparably blended; however, one attribute may take prominence over the others at certain times. On cold early mornings, its warmth is of utmost importance. Most days, its aroma and flavor are most attractive to me. Sometimes the caffeine boost is my primary reason for reaching for a cup. And on occasion coffee is a social drink, a backdrop for friendly conversation or companionable silence.
Poetry, I find, is much like coffee. It is part of my rhythm, and I get off kilter if I don’t read or write or recall some each day. Sometimes comfort is the most vital aspect; being wrapped in well-worn words calms and soothes me. Many days, I find simple joy in the taste of the syllables on my tongue. Often it is a stimulant, inspiring me in my own work. And at times poetry is a community event, drawing diverse people into a place where they can relate to each other.