My coffee cup is a moment of stillness so unlike the headlong hurtling present. Painted Japanese characters dangle from its rim like icicles from a timeline. I don’t know what they mean. Here is what I want them to mean. The mind races, but, to the mind, a Japanese cup seems frozen, fixed and durable, not quite rock but petrified. I want to not quite kiss you, is what I’m saying, for you to be not quite kissed. The cup has no handle because: too hot to handle is too hot to drink. You’ll wait, I hope, and cool a little while I heat. A riddle for the meantime. Liquid is a snare; gas another snare; steam is how coffee transcends, but to what. What is the cup. What are you in the doorway, not yet in the room, no longer outdoors. What is the smell of coffee. It makes you laugh to stand on the threshold teetering toward the bed, cold, underdressed, not because it’s funny. You can’t believe you’re waiting there at my request so I can memorize this frozen state of you, shivering between two raptures. The winter lawn was bracing, I imagine. I heard your shock when the cold dawn knocked you down. If you can exit this little emergency, the bed will toast you. I’ve asked you to wait. I didn’t expect you to comply. I’m not sure I would do the same. On tiptoe, in frosty boots and little else, you vibrate in the instant but stand and gather your open garment and wear my gaze. The coffee has no sense of humor. It cannot be cajoled. You tremble toward the bed and laugh through your nose and grant me the gift of this transcendent moment which sustains me long after you’ve gone.
Copyright © 2006
Very Short Novels 
4 comments
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October 24, 2006 at 3:55 pm
timethief
I’ve been reading and enjoying your very short stories very much. Although some caused me some discomfort I like them all. This one above particularly resonates. You have an amazing talent. Thanks for sharing. 🙂
Thank you, timethief. That’s high praise indeed.
–David
October 25, 2006 at 2:35 pm
red dirt girl
I believe, like a thief, you stole a dream of mine that I had the other night………what I remember are your hands: how they touched, their callouses, the ropy veins…….and exactly the moment they took me over……..
-rdg
I didn’t know that was you.
–David
November 13, 2006 at 9:37 pm
briseis
As always, this is absolutely fantastic.
Not your best, but close.
And lovely.
Thank you, briseis. The best are yet to come. And you, you’ve hardly begun what you’re capable of.
–David
November 14, 2006 at 10:49 pm
kimtelas
It is that moment, isn’t it? The idea that anticipation is as much , if not more, than the moment. And, and that one would consciously request anticipation. Coffee and its phases, never cooperative.
Kim
Well, yes, the moments can disappoint, even coffee can disappoint, but the anticipation, never, it’s always rich and deeply brewed.
–David