Sunday Coffee

by Sallie Crotty

Mama always brewed hot, black coffee
on Sunday mornings
We all wondered
if that was the special Jesus potion
to bring our Daddy back to us

His whiskey-scorched eyes
tried to meet my cornflower ones,
but they could not
Our danced-on, spilled-on hardwoods
always got the best of Daddy’s eyes

I missed him
his wrinkled dollar bills
he gave me to skip to the 7-11
for all the candy
four quarters could buy

I loved the bottle caps and candy cigarettes
and how
Daddy sometimes smoked with me
his Winstons swirled in the balmy night,
and I danced movie star steps in my head

Mama always brewed hot, black coffee
on Sunday mornings,
but I think Jesus
had forgotten
about my Daddy