Her fingers fumble the coffee cup

Her fingers fumble the coffee cup,

trembling like they don’t remember

how heavy warmth should be,

a careless spill catching light,

a slow drip, an apology.

Knock on the door, and suddenly

hands that held cards steady

sway, forget the weight of everything

for a heartbeat—then the tremor

runs to the bone, hiding.

These hands move slow, unsure,

a dance of slips and pauses,

trying to steady the world

one small ordinary act at a time,

but the tremble stays in the air,

a secret they can’t hold down.