as I pour coffee into a cup, it fills the room
with an earthly pungent smell. I imagine what
it would be like to think of you when the sun
comes up …
my consciousness drifts away.
there is an end to a universe, but at its edge,
there is no new beginning — it’s us again.
I keep pouring — only to not drink later and put the grinded
bitter beans down the drain — all that will remain will be a galaxy
devoid of ashes, dust, and gas, and you and I will be among it.
coffee, make me feel something again — why are
we here? what is that silhouette in my room?
how do we go on when we are not who we were?
but today is just another day, just another
Sunday … all I see is coffee, which will be soon in
it will slip away like you and
I will one day …
Anna Sharudenko is an amateur poet, an aspiring law student, and an undergraduate student at UCLA, studying literature. She was born in Moscow, Russia, but has lived in Los Angeles since her early teen years. She is a fan of informal logic and likes to discuss existentialism, Stoicism, and love as abstract concepts in her free time. She is a strange individual who also, ironically, prefers tea to coffee.