It is Monday morning and
my first cup of non-Hava Nashira coffee.
This should not be a disappointment
I really know what I’m doing with coffee
the fresh ground beans, the dark, dark roast.
But I miss the gold Oconomowoc pots
the caramel machiato packets that made it bearable
the sacred beverage that kept me awake
despite no sleep at all.
This is the hardest day of the year.
I want to sing every melody I know with
anyone who will listen. Right now
only the cats are available.
They seem okay with this but
their harmonies are limited.
Hava Nashira is a glimpse of the world yet to come.
We walk through its gates ready
to stand before each other with open mouths
and souls. We are all out on the table.
We are naked in the lake.
We are so much Hallelujah the people we walk by
in the grocery store start to weep as they
pick out their corn.
I’d give anything to arrange just one more van to the airport.
To walk around that damned tree blocking the entrance.
To lift my head in just the right way to see the words
on the screen behind the beautiful people singing them.
I miss you my friends.
You are a fleet of angels.
Your voices put the world back together.
Until next year when we twist our lights together
once again. Hava Nashira.
You’ve really done it this time.