Alchemist

Head migraine foggy,

rainstorm blurry, misty mountain cloudy--

I sit, making coffee.

A splash of this, a pinch of that,

reminiscent of childhood potion-making.

Wood chips, inedible berries,

water from the hose, rosebuds, dandelion blossoms...

Everything swirled into something fantastical.

All I have are beans, water, cream, and sugar.

Nowhere near as colorful,

just simple and mundane.

Perhaps adulthood has just conspired

to pull childhood away, bit by bit.

I won't let it take the rest of my strands.

I feel them dancing between my fingers

as I stir my coffee and dream of magic.