Damp Ring

I thought about calling her,

then remembered her kitchen.

Not the whole room,

but the counter by the sink.

A perpetual damp ring

where the coffee maker sat.

Always.

No matter how much she wiped.

It was there.

And the smell, too.

Faint, but stubborn.

Old grounds, a little sour.

It felt like a truth

she didn't want to scrub away.