The clay mug had clearly been broken,
even shattered, then reassembled
with a clear amber glue that allowed
me to see winter sunlight shining through
its walls when I lifted the mug to sip
the rich black tea. I swear, the drink
was even more delicious served
in a vessel so thoughtfully remade.
All day I thought of broken things.
All day I thought of repair. All day
I thought of ways to make beauty
out of what looks, for a time, like despair.
Posts Tagged ‘tea’
On Inauguration Day, Amy Serves Me Tea
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged beauty, brokenness, inauguration, tea on January 21, 2025| 13 Comments »
When My Mother Makes Me Tea
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged daughter, intention, kindness, love, mother, tea on April 30, 2024| 3 Comments »
It is kindness that moves her hand
to flip the switch on the hot pot,
and somehow a movement
that’s merely a flick is transformed
into an act of great love. It is kindness
that helps her choose the mug
she thinks I’d like the most—
not too small, not too big,
not too clunky. Perhaps the one
with pansies. Perhaps the one
that was dad’s. There is kindness
in the way she unwraps the tea bag,
my favorite earl gray, the bergamot
floral and strong. Kindness in the way
she pours in the soy milk,
the kind I like best, organic,
unsweetened, something she would
never drink herself but will always
have on hand for me. And so when
I wake in her bed and she tells me,
I’ve made you a cup of tea,
I know she is also saying
you are so precious to me.
I taste it in every sip, how warm it is,
how generous, the black tea so bright,
the milk so creamy, so smooth.
even with no sugar, so sweet.
Some Days It’s Like This
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged acceptance, meeting death, mortality, tea on June 25, 2023| 4 Comments »
Today it is somehow easy to know I will die.
Meeting mortality feels as possible, as natural
as inviting someone over for tea.
Caffeine or no caffeine, I ask.
Mortality shrugs as if it’s all the same.
I settle on the new tea I bought yesterday,
assam with rose petals. It’s dark and floral
and makes the mouth come alive.
You’re really not afraid of me today?
mortality asks. I shrug and say, Not right now.
We sip from our cups and stare out at the field
where the wind is whipping the tall grasses
in rhythmic pulses. “It’s good,” says mortality.
I nod. And we sit in content silence.
There just isn’t much to say.
When our cups are empty, mortality
doesn’t leave. It occurs to me then
my invitation to tea wasn’t necessary.
Mortality was already here.
It moves with me as I rise to clear the dishes,
as I wash the cups, as I walk out
into the wind, into the field.
On Drinking the Last Cup of Mariage Frères Marco Polo Tea
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged collaboration, friendship, mindfulness, presence, tea on January 24, 2023| 12 Comments »
I didn’t stop what I was doing
to enjoy the exotic red fruity notes,
didn’t pause my busy mind
to cherish the bold dark leaves.
That’s not to say I didn’t love drinking the tea.
I did. Every velvety sip.
And as I pulled the final muslin sachet
from the classic black box lined with gold foil,
I thought of the woman
who had bought me such extravagant tea
and I fell even more deeply in love with her.
I tell myself it’s not wrong
I divided my attention
between the delicate tea
and the generous sun
and the work that I love.
I tell myself they spoke to each other
in the most beautiful morning voices—
all of them conspiring
the way a violin and cello and piano conspire,
the way a poet and a pianist and an artist conspire,
the way strawberry and cocoa
and dark leaves conspire
to create something more from the moment—
an alchemy that only comes when we say yes
in the moment to everything.
Now, when I read those words I wrote,
I taste in them Tibetan flowers.
They wear the fragrance of sunshine,
the bouquet of exotic lands.
Now when I see the empty drawer
where the tea is not,
I dream of how I drank the last cup
as if it would last forever.
Adjusting to the Change
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged dark, grief, serving, tea, waking on November 12, 2021| 8 Comments »
Just today I didn’t make you
a cup of chai—did not stir
in the dark clover honey,
did not warm the soy milk,
did not bring you the cup
with red flowers, the one
we got in Finland all those
years ago when we couldn’t
sleep with all that light—
instead I pour myself
into the black of morning.
There is sweetness here
in these quiet, predawn hours,
a vastness no cup could ever contain.
I want to serve it to you,
though I sense, love,
it is you serving it to me.
Earl Gray
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged acceptance, entropy, mess, tea on January 24, 2021| 2 Comments »
Today the lesson is in the little black leaves
floating freely in the tea, loosened
from their bag. How quickly things come apart—
things I wish would stay intact.
And yet I drink from the dark cup
and find joy in the bold, citrusy warmth.
Though it’s messy, though the bits catch
in my teeth and tickle in my throat,
though it isn’t what I would have wanted,
neither has it ruined the pleasure of bergamot,
the sharpness of lemon, the flavor
of acceptance, of morning.
Join Me?
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged communion, love, sky, tea on October 16, 2020| Leave a Comment »
Nimbu
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged Nimbu, Paula Lepp, pleasure, tea on October 7, 2020| Leave a Comment »
with thanks to Paula Lepp for the introduction
This morning the Nimbu tea
reminds me there is so much goodness
yet to discover. Three days ago
I’d never heard of Nimbu, Nimbu,
much less tasted the bright citrus shine,
the full and sweet caramel body.
Now I can’t imagine a morning
without it warm and round on my tongue.
Nimbu. Nimbu. Just saying the name
makes me smile. Just a sip makes
me think of all the pleasures yet to come,
pleasures I don’t even know how to name,
pleasures just waiting to be found.
Tonight I Want to Hold You
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged holding, sun, tea on May 15, 2020| 2 Comments »
the way the hand holds the mug,
the way the mug holds the tea,
the way the tea holds the leaves,
the way the leaves hold the sun,
the way the sun holds everything
the way everything eventually
lets go.
Wishing I Were Stronger in the Face of Grief
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged courage, mint, strength, tea on April 7, 2020| 4 Comments »
Tonight, courage is the voice
of the mint tea as it lends its strength,
its green to the water.
It’s no small thing
to infuse something else
with warmth, with sweetness.
All day, I’ve wanted to be bolder.
All day, I’ve felt unsure
of what comes next.
The mint says yes, says drink,
says rest. Says, a small kick
can do a lot. The mint says,
one way to get stronger
is patience. It soothes me,
it helps me to sit
and feel what I feel
this smooth tea—
subtle, strong enough.
Drinking Assam Tea
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged hands, labor, poem, poetry, tea on November 20, 2019| Leave a Comment »
Malty, bright and voluptuous,
the tea meets me this morning,
and though I’m alone, the kitchen
is filled with other hands—the
potter’s, for instance, that threw
and trimmed and pulled and glazed
this favorite mug into mugness.
And the hands of the harvesters
in India who gathered the fresh green leaves
of the second flush, then
spread them on a tray and left them
to dry in the sun. And who rolled the leaves?
And who gathered them after they aged?
I wrap both hands around the mug
and inhale the musky scent of tea
and marvel at how much humanity
went into this simple cup. I stare
at my knuckles, my fingers, my palms.
It’s your turn, I tell them.
Serve the world well. Can you make something
so bold, so strong?
What We Can Do
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged help, helplessness, love, mother, poem, poetry, step mother, tea on May 22, 2019| 2 Comments »
Because I can’t make things better,
I offer you tea. I am grateful when you accept.
The night holds us both
as we sit in the kitchen,
your voice a small boat
in an ocean of ache.
Because I can’t fix the problems,
I cover you with a blanket
when I see you are shivering,
though I know your shudders
have little to do with cold.
Still, it feels good when you pull
the white throw around you,
as if for the moment you’re protected.
I think of the Queen of Sheba,
how she learned to be grateful
for falling. How, in the dark,
she found her own light within,
then rose up and shared
this pearl with the world.
Because you are hurting,
I listen to you, would listen
all night, would listen all week.
I offer my whole attention.
And as you find in yourself
the light that is there,
I marvel as you marvel
at your own wisdom, your
own strength.
I listen. I nod.
I pour you tea.
One More Lesson
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged failure, poem, poetry, tea on April 3, 2018| Leave a Comment »
while pouring tea for failure,
I forgot to add the tea—
we drink the hot water together and laugh
Damn Thirsty
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged ars poetica, darjeeling, poem, poetry, tea, thirst on December 7, 2017| 2 Comments »
Scent of Darjeeling
escapes through
the poem’s cup—
from miles away
you smell it,
twist of citrus,
muscatel—
try telling your thirst
it’s just words,
the delicate
flowering in the air,
the warmth
of the cup,
the fruit
making merry
on your tongue.
That Dry Feeling
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged anger, depression, poem, poetry, tea on February 28, 2017| Leave a Comment »
In his heads, he swirls
the dark loose leaves
of his thoughts,
lets them boil
and steep too long,
then offers the tea
to others to drink,
but it spills before
the tea reaches the cup,
and he fumes,
throws in more leaves.
Ritual
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged communion, love, poem, poetry, tea on April 27, 2016| 3 Comments »
We should have each other to tea, huh? We should have each other with cream.
“Lovecats,” The Cure
Perhaps you don’t like tea.
Perhaps you don’t like cream.
It’s not what’s in the cup that matters,
though of course there’s the lovely
unfurling of leaves and the way
that the water accepts what
it’s been given. But no.
It’s not about the tea.
It’s the ritual of the pouring that matters.
It’s the sharing from a single pot
and the all that is said and
the all that is seen as we sip.
We can fill the pot with water.
We can fill the pot with wine.
All that really matters is
that we take the time to sit
together and slowly drink—
we, two separate beings who
are choosing at the same time
to accept the same thing into ourselves.
It’s a little bit like love.
That’s Right
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged honesty, poem, poetry, tea on January 20, 2016| 3 Comments »
I’ve shown up naked
to tea. I know it’s not
the proper thing to do.
In fact, I am a bit surprised
myself to be wearing
nothing more than a pink scarf.
I was wearing more
when I left the house.
At least it is soft, the scarf,
and at least it is warm,
the tea. You don’t have
to pretend you don’t notice
and I’ll not pretend
either. No, let’s go on.
Yes, that’s right,
it’s a bit uncomfortable
I suppose, as all things are
at first. We’ll get used to it.
Who knows, maybe
by the time we pass the cream
you’ll have slipped off
your own button up shirt,
your embarrassment, your belt.
Maybe by the time
we get to the bottom
of our cups we’ll wonder
why we ever spent an afternoon
any other way.
Tasseography
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged poem, poetry, tasseography, tea on October 15, 2014| 1 Comment »
is this a poem
about tea, how it burns
when the lips are too eager
*
fennel, chicory, cardamom—
it always smells sweeter
than it tastes
*
the bottom of the cup,
the bottom of my thirst—
these are never the same
*
Darjeeling, Darjeeling—
ask me if I’d like some so
I might tell you yes, yes
*
tell me the truth
I say to the tea leaves, but
I don’t ask my real question
All of It, Every Bit
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged gratitude, humility, Issa, poem, suffering, tea on September 9, 2013| 2 Comments »
Tsuyu no yo wa tsuyu no yo nagara sari nagara
The world of dew —
A world of dew it is indeed,
And yet, and yet . . .
—Issa
Thank you for this world of dew,
for dew enough to fill a cup,
to fill my small cup to brimming,
though some mornings all the dew’s been spilled.
It matters not the hand that spilled it,
though there is a tug toward blame.
In the story, the Hindu master pours the cup
too full, and when the tea begins to spill
the scientists appeal to him in shock.
You are too full, he says to them.
Come back to me when you are empty.
Then we’ll talk.
World, thank you for emptying me.
And thank you for my cup, for this
fragile cup with it’s long thin cracks.
Thank you for my thirst,
this thirst so deep sometimes
I beg for one more sip.
And thank you for these lips
that beg, thank you for the empty cup,
and thank you for the sometimes dew.