Rituals

Steam swirls upwards
from a brown and cream mix
with dreary regularity.

She prepares coffee;
leaves it sizzling
on the dinner table:
polished of everything
but a dash of steaming brown.

Bag in hand, chores in the head,
a knock on the bathroom door
“I’m leaving!”
“Ok, have a good day!”

Mug handle still hot
froth still tasting fresh;
he guzzles it down:
his supple throat scalding
before the liquid settles;
a searing jumble
in the pit of his stomach.

This ritual:
of a mug steaming
in silence everyday after she left:
a faint remainder of their days when
a mug steaming
in between their entwined hands
was how it all began.