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Mourning Mug

Lifting the dark, heavy coffee mug, I drank to the comforts of drinking— For the repossession of nostalgia My neck was burning As the liquid skipped down my throat, A moon-like face shining in the cup I downed the rest of childhood, Drowning in dismal déjà vu Staring at her sadly... reflecting At the bottom of the mug, She stared back insatiably Did she truly hate me—or miss me? I drank to the last drip I would only see her face again When my distinctive thirst returned

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Duke Beaufort

Date: 9/9/2016 10:39:00 AM

You have (wittingly or not) made a pun title. The "our gang" series had a character named "mugs" also--this is old TV talk. Reflecting is sometimes a pain. I find that my brain gets very worked up and I become obsessed when I can't express myself satisfactorily. In any case--look what you have done! You have me laughing and feeling good after a long ordeal of about a month of working a very difficult situation. For that I owe you big time. Your poems are therapy for me!!

Justin Bordner

Date: 9/1/2016 7:11:00 PM

A thirst that begins in the heart always finds its way to where our passions depart, dreaming of how they may restart...J.A.B.

Clara Bereuter

Date: 9/1/2016 3:07:00 PM

"Drank to the comforts of drinking" Love it!

Timothy Hicks

Date: 8/31/2016 4:15:00 PM

There's a lot of contemplative sadness in your mourning mug, Laura. Some can't get their day started without their cup of Joe ... others can't be move forward without looking at the past. In either case, it's a vicious cycle ... and we're always going back for another cup. Good read.