My Last Cup of Tea
it was when I was pouring
hot steaming water over
a cup of cured tea leaves
I realized: I come from a
long line of women who
are difficult to love
I sat my divided self down
into the sumptuous brown
leather of my writing chair
to recall my last charitable
intended
an introvert in a 3 piece suit
his head akin to a minefield
lives by making prose poetry
reads
sad books
I set inconvenient boundaries
kept in constant motion always
one
stride ahead
he told me, ‘Everything craves
its
opposite.’
he devoted fluent squawkings
to the blue hue of my eyes
the curve of my hip
in the hopes I’d fall in step
behave like a woman in love
I made him fumble to fade
memories
you cannot send back
affection
lost
it was when I was pouring
hot steaming water over
a cup of cured tea leaves
I realized: my will is strong
yet I still long for his trundle
on the staircase
appearing with a soft kiss
a new verse
a fetching beam
I sat my divided self down
to pen fables for my
solitude
to expel it
to continue to leave
myself
stalwart with a plunged
heart
my last cup of tea revealed
the true
narrative
of Sorrow’s captive
**
We are closing in on the last few days of poetry month
and it appears that I have had a decent amount of poetry in me for the duration.
Pleased to have been able to write as much as I have in recent weeks. I still
can’t get a grip on the short story I wanted to write. The words start then
stop. The character is visible but the intent is failing me. I’m not sure
whether this is one of those cases where I will be struck with the lightning
bolt delivering that ‘ah-ha’ moment and go to town or perhaps it’s as Big Magic
suggests, the idea isn’t mine. I really want
it to be mine. We’ll see. For now though, I am more than content to churn out
the verses. The one I am currently pecking at is proving to be a challenge but
I will keep at it.
More tea, more words.
In propinquity,
Nic
This is a wonderful portrait of a conflicted woman. Does she make herself difficult by resisting the lure of love for fear of its entrapment? And yet, she is trapped by the fear rather than opening herself to love. Poignant and mesmerizing. I like to read your poems aloud, as if tasting them makes them easier to interpret. Sometimes it does!
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