Saturday, December 24, 2011

Tea ceremony

She might think it's laziness,
Or another manifestation of eccentricity,
But to her credit she says nothing
As the tags from teabags accumulate on the counter.
Lemon tea when her throat was sore,
Orange and spice with Chinese takeout;
Masala chai to get to work in the morning,
Earl Grey to unwind at night.
Irish Breakfast to celebrate her heritage,
English Breakfast for mine;
Assam, Ceylon, Darjeeling.
Freed from their strings,
The little squares of coloured paper are like tickets,
Bringing the world to this little kitchen—
A world of sunny hillsides
& warm rain
& dark hands
& green leaves.
It might look like laziness,
But the tags are purpose-saved,
And one day I let them fly.
She doesn't like confetti
For the way it lingers,
Still turning up days or weeks or months later,
But her eyes sparkle as the tea tags flutter down about her head,
And she laughs in exasperated delight.
Of such small blessings
And such brief moments
Is a marriage in friendship made.

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