stevia

I.
by the coffee machine overflowing. the grounds
bubbling & spitting, grit & black sand. a pot of thin 
charcoal snakes. uncle Rich in the living room 
with a mug in each hand waits & blinks to flip channels 
of the television. the shelves with the glasses 
& plates shutter-- clinking like the scales of a great
beast; one that lives all over the kitchen.
phantom & fork-toothed. one packet of stevia is enough 
for a cup of coffee. all natural zero calories.
the honey crystallizes. mom at the table; wrapping my 
brothers in newspaper. the coffee was too strong
because i didn't measure the grounds. the stevia packets
opened themselves one after another, their sweetness 
aloof & skeletal. 

II.
i asked the waiter for a sugar substitute
at the cafe off of hempsted. i was embarrassed 
to have to find fake sugar in front of you.
i usually come prepared now with yellow packets 
in my pockets. the sugar jar on the table 
was a beach with pure white sand. the waves hot & steaming-- 
steeped in blood orange tea. i wanted to dig my hands in, bite
handfuls of gravely sweetness, melting to 
nectar. you tell me about brewing sweet tea in texas with 
the sugar already in the pot. i found two packets of stevia.
they were next to the coffee machine at my parents 
house. i didn't take long to walk there, always on the 
other side of the room. i tell you in one sentence
that i used to have an eating disorder, but still kind 
of do. it tastes like stevia. open the packet 
& my mother with the newspaper was
at a table next to us. the television
blinked in the foreground. tell me what
you do for sugar.