Ekphrastic Literary Contest 2024 WINNER
1st Place – Adult Short Story
MORNING COFFEE by Glenna Agnew
Inspired by Morning Coffee by Sybille Von Roeder
I stand at the fence, overlooking the field, staring out. Staring at the nothingness. The predawn with only a glimmer of pink, the sky still semi-dark. Staring at what some might consider the nothingness, but it is my life now. My faithful cup of morning brew is clutched desperately in my hand, fingers curled cruelly around the handle. It seems to be the only thing I can really get a grip on these days. As we stand watching, the sky is just beginning to lighten and the pink glow is blooming on the horizon.
Joe is there beside me, man’s best friend they say. He is my one source of comfort, other than the liquid comfort I hold in my hand. A cup of Joe in my hand and a Joe by my side. He leans against me, and rubs his black and white furry head against my side; he stares, as I do, into the distance. Into the future? Into the past? Who knows?
He suddenly perks up his ears and alerts. I glance in the direction he is staring. Is it the brown bunny that lives in the backyard? Is he wondering if the rabbit will peek his head out of his burrow and hop into sight, offering a little morning exercise for the two of them?
Is he wondering too, wondering if we will turn and take a walk along the winding path that travels beside the fence, across the dew-drenched fields, the way we used to do? Before… My thoughts trail off. Sometimes it’s hard these days to complete my ideas. Random thoughts are jumbled in my brain. With no rhyme or reason. I am distracted continually and scattered thoughts pop in and out as quickly as…
Joe leans into my leg and rubs his head against my leg again. Maybe he is wondering if we will return to the porch and watch the morning pass by, minute by minute, hour by hour, until the afternoon arrives and we start the process all over again. We’ve done that for the past few days now I think, and I hear him sigh but he does not leave my side. I reach down and give a quick pat to his faithful head.
I hear him breathing, that soft panting that he does now after the least bit of exertion. His tongue is extended, and drool pools in the corner of his mouth, that thick slobber that always seems to get over everything. Inevitably it will end up on my jeans or my jacket. But if truth be told, it is the price I gladly pay. The price of the slobber far outweighs the love I receive in return. Good old Joe.
I raise my cup again, drink in that pungent aroma, and taste the slight bitterness. I feel the steam rise and fill my nostrils. I blow on it before I take a sip; as if that is really going to cool the steamy liquid, however, it is part of the tradition, the coffee routine.
It’s cooler outside this morning, there is a raw bite to the air. When I opened the door this morning and felt the chill, I reached for my colourful jacket hanging on its peg by the kitchen door. I have always loved that jacket, it is soft and worn from many washings. The fringe along the arms reminds me of my younger days. Some of the fringe, like me, is barely hanging on, hanging on by a thread.
I reached up to the shelf above the pegs and jammed my broad-brimmed hat on my head. I love the hat which matches the jacket, it is also slightly faded and worn, again, much like me. I had bundled my long hair into a casual ponytail which hung loosely down my back almost to my waist. This style is about all I can manage these days. My bell-bottom blue jeans also speak of the past, a bygone era, one filled with Peace and Love and Flower Power. It all seems so long ago, or maybe it was just yesterday.
The sky is just beginning to lighten, the pink glow is spreading and I can see that the flowers are unfurling, opening themselves to the coming day. I love the daisies.
I take another sip from my cup, feel the hot liquid slide down my throat, and imagine it spreading through my veins, giving me the energy to face all that the day has to offer. I like this new brew, it has a strong, dark, earthy feel about it with a bolder somewhat smoky flavour. Forget those fancy frothy lattes and cappa, cappa something, or others. I will gladly pass on those artsy decorated cream-swirled concoctions with their leafy patterns. I like mine bold, strong, and fortifying. At least I think I do. Give me a good strong cup of Joe.
Joe. Joe. I look around and there he is beside me, staring at me and whining softly,
Something suddenly changes within me and I start to lose that fleeting clarity. It is as if a veil has come down over my brain, a shutter coming down within my mind, releasing cobwebs that are gossamer and dusty. It’s happened before I think, and I suddenly feel unsure, unsettled, unhinged. I have a need to go… go…
I glanced over my shoulder at the house behind me and saw a woman standing in the doorway. Watching. Waiting. Who was she and what was she doing there?
“Come on …dog,” I said and we went to see the woman now waving to us.
“Hello,” I said. “Were you waving at me?”
“Yes,” she answered and I thought her smile looked a little sad.
“How was your early morning walk?” she asked.
“Fine,” I answered. “Are you here to see me? Can I help you?”
“No,” she said softly. “I’m here to help you Mum.”
“Do I know you?” I asked.
“Yes, Mum. I’m your daughter Kelly. I’m back home now. Remember? I’m here to stay with you now. To take care of you.”
“Kelly? I like that name.”
“Thanks, Mum.” She opened the door and led us into the kitchen. “I see your cup is empty, let’s get you another cup of coffee, shall we?”