My sister and I uncovered a secret burial ground

where disposable coffee cups lie;

glistening white lids

rest next to once-sturdy paper cups

that were gripped by human hands,

hands that may have touched a computer keyboard

or cut hair or served food.

There’s no evidence of piping-hot coffee, so

comforting

caffeinated or decaffeinated

with foam or without

single or double

nonfat or lowfat

flavored or black.

We stood on the edge of the pit, looking over;

dirt, smelling of rain, was piled near us.

Molly Lori