by Mary Harwell Sayler
I thought I had upgiven childhood fan-
tasies: toys from San-
ta Claus, bunny baskets, and monstrous mounds of can-
dy on All Saints Hallowed Eve.
But sipping my morning cup of Columbian
coffee with Christmas-like pleasure, I saw a man
and his nameless donkey, bean-laden, on TV,
and I believed.
I believed in the goodness of coffee
for those who grow and pick and drink.
I believed in the kind-eyed man
and his mule – actors both,
bean-dropping on my reality.
Such belief comes so much harder than
the coffee man’s assuring nod.
The One I cannot seem to see
is not so easy to believe,
and, therefore, as I live and deeply breathe,
© 2012, Mary Harwell Sayler, poem previously published in the Vol. IV, #1, Spring Issue of Writer to Writer magazine and in © 1998 chapbook Speaking Peach.