Dear Bean,

Though I’ve felt blessings from your grown, tended, matured, picked, roasted, and ground sacrifices untold times, I ask myself, have I uttered sincere worded verse that your tiny ears have heard? Gazed gratefully into your tiny, beneficent eyes so they might see my soul’s satisfaction? I do thereby publicly proclaim my adoration this day.

From childhood’s first inhaled heaven steaming from Gramma and Grampa’s percolator to browsing bags of you at the roastery, hearing the click of another half-pound on the punch card that leads to a free bag. Sipping an aromatic Kona sample as Betty rings me up for you and a custom-made sub with baguette, smoked Gouda, American, olives,  spinach, sweet relish – and a bottle of local distillery vodka. You were part of my payday Friday night after-work ritual for 20 years. I’ll never forget those guts and glory times and your part in the glory. Waking up on Saturday afternoon with mild dis-ease, your grind, sniff, then pouring forth kept me heartened and motivated to last until pension and retirement away from the capitol and to the rurals.

Thank you for being a daily presence in my world since Gramma said, yes, a small cup. We’ve traveled the country, you a silent, rewarding companion; me, guzzling you and snapping varying camera incarnations to drop outputs at the Fotomat when back home. You’ve always made yourself available to me, through travels, power outages, and inflation. Through sleepovers at lovers’ and sipping you scalding along with a ham-less egg mcmuffin from the drive-through while rushing home to get ready and get to work on time. From heating you up from the day before and using flavored creamer to mask your less-than-freshness from sitting in a hot pot for hours. Thank you for generously sharing yourself with a partner who loves you as much as I do. There’s never been a more compatible menage et trois. I’m sure he’s still guzzling you, wherever he may be watching sunrise from these days.

You’ve never let me down. My trust in you is implicit. Even if faux-kings block bags of you being shelved locally, I’ll travel to you if I must. I must ask you though, before I close, what’s been in it for you? How have I enriched your being that keeps you unquestioningly faithful to me all of these years? I must know before the end. Take all of the time you need before answering, my dearest.

Yours,

Li

Laura is today’s host of dVerse’ Meeting The Bar/Forms. Laura gave us options. I chose:

2. The Prose Poetry Epistle. A style that keeps much of the lyricism of poetry without constriction by meter or rhyme and still employs techniques of alliteration, repetition, etc…

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