If the Rings Could Talk

if the rings could talk,
each stratum
a layer of thought.

the delicate design
of a stranger’s hand
slowly dissolves,

like clouds
drifting across the sky.

a sip.
a pause.
the mark of lips
upon the rim.

how many stories
have unfolded
over a cup of coffee?

deals made.
arguments settled.
wounds open.
healing begun.

lovers meeting.
others parting.

a whispered confession.
an unexpected laugh.
a silence
too heavy for words.

and all the whiles,

coffee poured,
cups emptied,
chairs moved,
another name called.

life continuing
without waiting
for anyone
to finish their story.

i sit
with my coffee,

watching the rings
gather along the porcelain,

each one
a trace
of what has passed.

and i wonder,

what it stillness
was never
the absence of movement,

but the quiet knowing
that i am
within it?

the last sip.

a cup returned
to its saucer.

one emptied.
another filled.

and somewhere,
another conversation
begins.