Accidental Touches

Line count: 25

I inhale the scent of morning,
the rich bold aroma of a Columbian blend
and remember the feel of my first cup of coffee.

I was a child,
no more the three or four,
setting on my father's lap,
when I tried to take my first sip;
I pulled the hot cup of coffee off the kitchen table
spilled it on both of us,
the accidental touch of the hot dark liquid
soaked through may pajamas and burned my skin.

My mother grabbed me,
pulled off my pajamas, bandaged my knee
and my father got the car keys;
I remember the doctor’s gentle touch
when he exposed the my wound to light
and the scent of the salve he used
to soothe and heal the burn;
I remember the aroma of the coffee and my desire
to taste the hot drink
my father had every morning
as I set on his lap and he read the comics to me,
but most of all I remember
it's the accidental touches of disaster
that reveal a parent's love.