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This writing was accepted for publication in the 108 page perfect-bound ISSN# / ISBN# issue/book... “Hands that Hurt” Down in the Dirt, v145 (the May 2017 Issue) You can also order this 6"x9" issue as a paperback book:

Order this writing in the issue book Random Thoughts the Down in the Dirt July-Dec. 2016 collection book		get the 418 page May-August 2017 Down in the Dirt issue anthology 6" x 9" ISBN# paperback book:

Order this writing in the book Negative Space (the 2017 poetry, flash fiction & art collection anthology)		get the 298 page poem, flash fiction & art collection anthology as a 6" x 9" ISBN# paperback book:

Coffee Mug

Christine Jackson

As a young man,
my father drank
a mug of coffee
at supper to pull him
through long hours
on warehouse night shift.
He wrapped his big fist
around the huge brown cup,
more like a mug and a half,
as my mother almost filled it,
an inch from the top,
with steaming coffee
from the glass carafe.
Dad stirred in milk
and three sugars,
slurping,
sighing,
savoring,
before the press of night
forced him to leave us.

As a man too old for the warehouse,
Dad fell.
In the physical rehab place
they made him switch to tea.
After he died,
my mother placed
the over-sized brown ceramic cup
far back on the top shelf
in the china cabinet.
Once I needed a caffeine jolt
and asked if I could use the mug.
I don’t think so, she said.

Packing up the house
before Mom went into assisted living,
I helped her unload the dishwasher
for the last time.
The mug lay on its side
in the top rack.
I’ve been using it,
she said.
But now, Tommy, I want you
to throw that mug into the trash,
hard,
hard enough to shatter,
because I want to hear
the broken weight of my life
and feel the end of things.

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