—brewed remembrance
The stove was cold for years, they say,
yet every dusk, without delay,
the kettle clinked, the filter hissed,
a sound no living soul had missed.
No lights were on. No feet would tread
into the kitchen of the dead.
The neighbors swore it was the wind,
that broken pipe, that trick again,
but all could smell the coffee burn,
could feel the chill with each return.
And in the pane, just past the lace,
a face that shouldn’t have a face.
The beans were ground before the war.
The mug still bore a date: ’44.
The brew was dark, the steam was gray,
and none who saw would look away.
Each night it boiled, each night she sipped,
her lips long gone, her silence kept.
📜 The Widow’s Percolator – The Recipe
Ingredients:
- 4 tbsp ground Chicory Coffee (aged like regret)
- 12 oz Well Water (drawn from the fog)
- 1 tsp Ashes (optional, but inevitable)
Instructions:
Place grounds into a rusted percolator you inherited but never claimed. Let the flame catch only after the sun has vanished. Brew for exactly 13 minutes, no more, no less. Serve in chipped bone-china, untouched since the funeral. Drink with hands that remember things they shouldn’t.