I drink often from my sister's mug,
the seasonal one I formerly objected to,
strenuously, on account of its chipped lip:
It lets out toxins. It harbors germs.
But somehow watching the incense of Lady Grey,
or chai, or some generic black tea curl
from a cup with "Peace" in red cursive
across its middle (and, more palely,
like steam wisps, "love, joy, hope")
is something akin to cookies for Santa--
a rite proclaiming I still believe.
the seasonal one I formerly objected to,
strenuously, on account of its chipped lip:
It lets out toxins. It harbors germs.
But somehow watching the incense of Lady Grey,
or chai, or some generic black tea curl
from a cup with "Peace" in red cursive
across its middle (and, more palely,
like steam wisps, "love, joy, hope")
is something akin to cookies for Santa--
a rite proclaiming I still believe.
At last, your tea poem! :-)
ReplyDeleteYour poems have a way of placing the reader in the scene. We see the things that you would have us see. This is a very great artistic merit!
I wonder -- a bit of pettifoggery, this-- if the comma in the middle of the first line needs to be there. Would you have the reader pause overmuch after "I drink often"?
But again, a splendid poem which I -- and others, no doubt! -- greet with joy.
Oh, I see that now! I'm often a bit too liberal with my commas. But I hope this isn't THE tea poem I write! The real one will probably have to do with my September tea cup :) Thank you, as always, for your thoughtful reading and commenting!
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