I woke up to the smell of no coffee being made.
A smothering scent slicing between my atoms,
through the puffed up spaces
like a blade.

This reminds me of when everything felt solid.
How under warm blankets my hand softly slid
around my lover’s waist; we didn’t care about
coffee or the rain outside.

Or how this grand illusion, this faith
would always refuse the slimmest of daggers;
being able to use my hand to knock on
a neighbor’s door was certain.

That was then. And this is now.

Today my spaces will mingle in faithless places;
anonymous currents will carry my atoms
until it is time to materialize. A magician’s
sleight of hand is no better.

And so I will rise and dress myself
as I am; grind through all of this
until by chance my atoms can touch
things not sharp.

I do this out of faith and selfishness.
For when my atoms are burned and the ashes
cast to eternal currents I pray that
warm hands, solid hands will carry me there.

Copyright 2012 By Katherine Johnson – All Rights Reserved.