February 25, 2014

Objects are evocative; they hold stories. The writing challenge this week is to begin with an object. Take something small, and concrete — a thing, a noun — and use that as a starting point.

I began thinking what I could use as an object for my challenge. I looked all over my home office, nothing came to mind. I sat and thought and thought and thought, nothing came to mind. I decided to do some other things to clear my mind of everything. Start with a blank canvas so to speak. It usually works for me and sure enough, it did again.

I had the object I wanted to write about. It was perfect. It meant a lot to me. It held great meaning. It was a simple object, yet with so many emotions attached to it. Below is that object.

Dad's coffee cup (c) JLPhillips 2014 — Dad’s coffee cup (c) JLPhillips 2014

It usually sits in a glass cupboard with other things I value. So it’s a bit dusty, a bit dirty, but means so much.

It was my Dad’s favorite coffee cup according to my mom. My dad died a little over ten years ago from prostate cancer. I loved my dad. So this coffee cup holds lots of memories and love.

Sometimes I take it out of the cupboard and just hold it in my hands and think of him. I talk to him and tell him I miss him and I wish I could see him one more time. I tell him that I would have been there as he passed to tell him I loved him if I could have.

But I wasn’t there. That makes me so sad sometimes.

My mother sent me this cup several years after Dad died. You see, the time of his death is doubly sad as I wasn’t on speaking terms with my family at the time. No one told me he had died till several months after the fact. I never got my chance to say I loved him, I never got my chance to say good-bye.

I believe he knew I loved him. My dad and I could communicate silently. We did it most of our lives. He was a quiet man, kept to himself a lot. But, I always could talk to him. He was always honest with me. I appreciated that fact.

So even though this cup never gets filled with coffee anymore, it’s filled with other things. Memories, love, forgiveness, and peace.

It’s just a cheap glass coffee cup

But inside, it’s not empty

as memories fill it to the brim

Memories of quiet talks when no one else was around

of flower beds and growing things

that surrounded you

of black coffee with just a touch of sugar

and a doughnut on the side

This cup isn’t empty at all

as my love fills it up to be drank by the ghosts

of the past