Ordinary Touches

I sat at the diner, watching her hands,

a delicate dance with coffee and pans.

She cradled the mug with a steady, warm grace,

and I saw in her movement the world’s gentle pace.

With each pour of the coffee, the steam climbed and curled,

it whispered of comfort, a soft, ordinary world.

Those hands held the moments we often overlook,

a quiet reminder in the way that she cooks.