Hot Tea
Originally uploaded by metaphoric
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
As I Like It
TEA
I like pouring your tea, lifting
the heavy pot, and tipping it up,
so the fragrant liquid streams in your china cup.
Or when you’re away, or at work,
I like to think of your cupped hands as you sip,
as you sip, of the faint half-smile of your lips.
I like the questions – sugar? – milk? –
and the answers I don’t know by heart, yet,
for I see your soul in your eyes, and I forget.
Jasmine, Gunpowder, Assam, Earl Grey, Ceylon,
I love tea’s names. Which tea would you like? I say
but it’s any tea for you, please, any time of day,
as the women harvest the slopes
for the sweetest leaves, on Mount Wu-Yi,
and I am your lover, smitten, straining your tea.
Carol Ann Duffy
Love exists in the simplest rituals. In teas and coffees, toothpastes and toothbrushes. In the gentle stretch of arms at dawn, a yawn, a sigh.
The poem is beautiful in its simplicity, and I love the placid, nearly childish rhymes that emphasize its simplicity. It's the sort of poem that brings a gentle smile to one's face, the kind that is scribbled on a post-it pad stuck to the refrigerator door. That's the kind of life I want to lead.
The simple life. A life more ordinary and less travelled. The kind that involves reading poetry into the middle of the night, scribbling what comes to mind on a fragment of a post-it pad, and sticking it to the fridge door where you take the milk for your tea the next morning. The kind that integrates art to the shopping list. It's a gentle type of love, at times mellow like lightly brewed white tea, and at others passionate and smoky like an infusion of Russian Caravan.
Note to Self: Poetry + Blog + Pictures = A Very Good Idea
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