Waking up to coffee–two cups, one accompanied by two fresh-baked cookies and half a power bar. Plenty of breakfast. As I sip, I read Coffee Poems, purchased recently after reading on Jen Payne’s blog that she’d had a poem published in this anthology. (Yes, all the poems are about, or at least mention, coffee.) Here is Jen’s poem:

Measuring Water by Sound

I want to know the color of your eyes, not just the browns

and greens of them, but by the specific Pantone colors of

their constellations.

I want to know by rote how your tongue forms the syllables

of my name, the way your lips make words in the dark.

I want to know your skin like I know my favorite sweater,

how it caresses my shoulders, hugs my hips…where it rests

against my belly.

I want to know you by sound, the way I know I’ve poured

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The first lines of a book are often the “hook” that entice the reader to either continue reading or decide the book is not their cup ‘a tea. I am nearly finished with No Ordinary Time by Doris Kearns Goodwin, which chronicles Franklin and Eleanor Roosevelt’s life on the home front during World War II. It contains 636 pages with some anecdotes and detailed narratives which give insights into the times of my mother and father.

Chapter one begins with an illustration of headlines in the New York Times, “Nazis Invade Holland, Belgium, Luxembourg by Land and Air; Dikes Opened; Allies Rush Aid.” Underneath, are the first lines:

“On nights filled with tension and concern, Franklin Roosevelt performed a ritual that helped him to fall asleep.  He would close his eyes and imagine himself at Hyde Park as a boy, standing with his sled in the snow atop the steep…

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