Seven Weeks or About the Size of a Coffee Bean

By Christopher Notarnicola

July 11, 2022

Seven Weeks or About the Size of a Coffee Bean

The morning is here again. My fiancée and I have taken to acknowledging the miracle of recurrence. The water is hot again. The towel is dry again. The mirror is us again. And the coffee, about once a week, is the ever-coffee again. We keep the grounds in a swing-top jar with a measuring scoop, adding more coffee when the scoop can no longer dredge up a heaping tablespoon, mixing brands and roasts and grinds—whatever’s on sale. This practice periodically leads us to the ever-coffee—a constant accumulation of coffees at the unscoopable reaches of the jar. If these sediments were sampled and analyzed by coffee experts in a coffee laboratory, they would find traces of the first bag she and I shared, the grounds we added last, and every bean between—even hazelnut dust, even chicory bits. If we were to brew a cup of the ever-coffee, we would brew through a timeline, each steaming droplet soaking granules of the past, pulling flavor from some forgotten morning, swirling into a sip that would suggest everything has the potential to occur again, even the smallest things, and we might grow to know such recurrence if only we could attune our tongues to the flavor.


Christopher Notarnicola is a writer from Pompano Beach, Florida. Find his work at


Image by Adam courtesy of Adobe Stock

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