Ketsana

Ketsana

I stir in cream into my cup of freshly-brewed coffee

and it turns to the color of mud–

grey, brown, silent, granular,

reflects light at the edges.

It is warm.

These last few days, everyone to the color of mud

has been keenly familiar–

grey, brown, granular

but I do not think there’s light to reflect anymore.

At the edges, sticking out are things familiar.

It is not warm at all.

I sip my coffee before it gets cold.

Outside, impending rain.