Poem: Another Cup Please

Mill mountain

Another Cup Please

This is where you bled,
your confessional.
It is the place where you cried in public,
where you cursed the world,
where you discovered
zombies are real as you stared into space
for hours at a time.

This is where your scars began,
tender at first,
then tougher.
Big. Ugly. So ugly
you were sure the whole world saw.
that they would wince at your coming.
like the approach of Frankenstein,
and yet, they didn’t.
Scars, it seems, are less disfiguring than we imagine.

This is where you prayed over coffee and bagels
the elements of a different kind of communion,
where the remembrance was not of a risen Lord,
but of a ragged and broken life, reclaimed.

About this poem.

The picture was taken minutes ago, at Mill Mountain Coffee, which after my divorce was my office, my getaway, a place I stayed in contact with people, a place I did bible study, beat myself up, healed, made friends, did work, and slowly found my way back to myself. (With the help of good friends, a good therapist and two good pastors. Hey, coffee can’t heal everything!).

Tom

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