Nonna, I have a Confession

She used to brew a pot of coffee after every Sunday dinner

But before she handed me my own cup,

She’d add a splash of water to dilute the taste,

Thinking a little girl wouldn’t notice the difference.

 

When I got old enough, I would protest,

Pretending I could drink coffee just like the grownups

But there are things a grandmother knows…

 

She was right; I never did like the taste back then.

 

These days, I take my coffee black.

I’m used to the taste it leaves behind

And the way it toys with a sleepy mind…

 

I never liked the idea of masking something bitter.

 

She was always a well intentioned woman

And I only wish I could say the same of myself during her final days,

But something seemed wrong

Whenever we threw coffee grounds at the ocean.

 

Nonna,

We only watered you down

To cut the taste of false promises.

 

The truth is,

She was never going back to Italy,

We never believed in Jesus,

And I never did stay pure.

Reviews

[Everson Taveras]

A very moving piece. Sincerity is felt throughout the poem, though I felt a bit that the narrator was juvenile in her disregard of heeding her grandmother's warning of not to drink coffee plain. There is underlying theme played in the poem, and I can't quite wrap my finger around it, which leaves me wondering more about what happens next. Did you water her down because her existence gave you the taste of false promises? And perhaps you never stayed pure because you enjoy the raw taste of something forbidden. Excellent writing.