[Header Photo by Dominic von Eichel-Streiber on Unsplash]

my mother drank her coffee black

but the sweet southern tea
she steeped for us tasted like syrup

these drinks her life

that stained cup for herself
stark solitary and bitter

that jar carefully measured for her family
a sustenance like a dessert iced in a glass

“is it sweet enough?” she’d ask my father each time

—P.L. Thomas