Not Just Coffee
A poem celebrating the pure joy of coffee and the depths of a drink that extends well beyond its taste.
“You’re a companion to books in cosy nooks, you’re the ritual that reminds me, that a new page starts with you”
When I was 17, I had a weekend job at Starbucks, where I frothed milk alongside some of the best friends I’ve ever had. Later, when I was an actor, I worked at a busy Starbucks in Manchester in-between filming.
My relationship with coffee was a mixed one back then. Although I really enjoyed drinking it, the association became somewhat tarnished.
Firstly - it was a painful reminder that I wasn’t acting. Then, there were the early starts, commuting into the dark city to make coffee for strangers (Frappuccino’s were the bane of my life!). At the end of the day I’d hop straight into the shower to rinse the smell of old coffee beans out of my hair. Then there was the envy I felt watching customers sip and savour their coffee with friends while I worked flat out behind the counter!
It’s surprising, then, that coffee is still my favourite drink and a powerful support system that has held me together throughout the years.
To me, the smell and taste of coffee have always signalled hope and fresh beginnings. I can almost feel the positivity and determination for the day ahead brewing as I prepare my first cup.
And then there’s the connection. Coffee has a way of bringing together friends, family and loved ones over a drink that is enjoyed all over the world.
Now as a full-time working mother of two very energic little boys, coffee has evolved into a way of carving out precious time to rest and reflect - of realigning myself when my identify feels woolly.
Coffee reminds me of who I am and the person I am driven to be and this poem celebrates my relationship with a drink that has always been so much more than just coffee…
No Just Coffee
You’re not just coffee.
You’re waking with the birds.
You’re sunlight filtered
through kitchen windows;
the promise of a new day,
with endless possibilities.
You’re heated hands,
and chats with friends,
you’re the pick me up
in an afternoon slump.
You’re the smell that wafts
through hotel lobbies,
the freshly ground sound,
more powerful than any alarm.
You’re a companion to books in cosy nooks,
you’re the ritual that reminds me,
that a new page starts with you,
like the scent of a sharpened pencil
on fresh paper.
You’re the slow press of a cafetiere,
a slice of time reserved for me
to anticipate the first molten drop
that no other can compete with.
You’re not just coffee,
you’re hope for a second chance;
a reminder that I’ve woken again,
and life is good.
- Lucie Sweeney