Coffee Grinds

Coffee Grinds

I take the small chair and place it next to the stove,

every morning I sit and wait for the coffee to be done.

He says, when he wakes, that his first cup is the aroma in my hair.

I take the wet grinds out to the lemon tree.

I break them up with an old spoon and imbed them around the roots.

There is no one anymore to smell my hair in the morning.

I still sit in my wooden chair waiting for the coffee to be done,

tears drying on my cheeks from the heat on the stove.