The Mourning Rituals

The morning rituals:
Water set to boil,
The coffee measured out in spoonfuls,
Paper filters folded in half -
Because we ran out of the right ones.
It satisfies me to improvise,
To make do with less;
I wonder if there's less than this,
Less than this, I whisper
Quietly to myself.

Cat is out back
Lounging in a square of sunlight.
I open the window and meow,
Startling cat awake -
Go out to fill its bowl
As cat meows and hisses at me.
No one ever taught you how
To show proper gratitude,
I say to myself.
Then meow and hiss back

The water is boiling.
I remove it from the base
Letting it cool down some
So as not to make the coffee bitter.
Then pour it over the cone,
Adjusting my flow in
To equal the flow out.
A perfect slurry,
I say out loud to no one
And then I also add a meow.

I stir in a spoonful of sugar,
Then a spoonful of cream,
Watching the Milky Way
Spin in endless night,
Endlessly fascinated.
Never tiring of this part of my life,
Marveling like a child
At the simple daily events.
I am a child,
I think out loud.

It pleases me to bang
My spoon rhythmically around
The mug's interior listening
For the distant bell from the Monastery
And the ancient bell of the ox.
Then I hear her say, Jesus!
From the other room.
You're gonna miss this ringing
One day after I'm gone,
I say out loud.