Four Minutes Between Sleep and Surgeon (Morning Coffee)

Lyrics

[Verse 1]
The kettle knows before I do
It clicks at 6:47
because I set it last night
the way I set everything —
in advance
so the morning version of me
has fewer decisions
and the fewer decisions
the softer the landing

Bare feet on cold tile
which is the first conversation
of the day —
the floor says you're here
and my feet say
reluctantly

[Verse 2]
The beans are Guatemalan
from the shop on Rue de la Roquette
that roasts on Tuesdays
I grind them the night before
and leave the grounds
in the ceramic filter
like a letter
I've written to tomorrow
that says only:
I knew you'd come
I prepared

The pour is the ceremony
Ninety-three degrees
because above that
the oils go bitter
and I am already bitter enough
at 6:48
to need the coffee sweet
in the ways
the coffee can be sweet

[Pre-Chorus]
This is the smallest love
I have
Four minutes
between sleep and surgeon
between the woman
who was dreaming
and the woman
who will be needed
at the hospital by nine

[Chorus]
The first sip
and the adenosine releases
its grip on the receptors
like a night guard
handing over the keys
and I can feel the morning
arrive in my prefrontal
not like a light switching on
but like a window
being opened
from the inside

Four minutes
One cup
The window shows the same courtyard
The courtyard shows the same chestnut
The chestnut is losing the same leaves
it lost last October
and I am the same woman
choosing the same cup
from the same shelf
and the sameness
is the entire point

[Bridge]
I have operated on the border
between consciousness and not
I have counted patients backward
from ten to silence
and watched them surface
reaching for the familiar —
a name, a hand, a word
they packed before they went

Every morning I perform
this crossing on myself
No countdown
Just Guatemalan beans
and ninety-three degrees
and the particular trust
required
to believe
that the woman who wakes up
is the same one
who went to sleep

The coffee is the proof
The cup is the same
The window is the same
The hand that lifts it
knows its weight
and the weight
hasn't changed
and that certainty
is the smallest love
I have
and the one
I would miss most
if it went

[Final Chorus]
The first sip
and the morning agrees
to begin
One cup
One window
One courtyard
One chestnut
losing its leaves
at a rate
I will not calculate today

Four minutes
between who I was
and who the hospital needs
and in those four minutes
I belong to the cup
and the cup
belongs to the window
and the window
belongs to no one
and neither do I