Rituals
In the mornings, my mother and I drank tea
We poured it slowly from the old black kettle
Then she went her way, and I went mine
Aging alone at either end of that old house
We poured it slowly from the old black kettle
Steam rising like a foggy curtain until my eyes lost her
Aging alone at the other end of that old house
Sometimes I crept into her bathroom to find her
Steam rose like a foggy curtain, and my eyes lost her
It smelled fresh and sharp, tea tree oil and mist and skin
Sometimes I crept into her bathroom to lose her
Often, she didn't say a word
It smelled fresh and sharp, black tea and steam and milk
We began simply, the creeping cold, burned tongues
And often, she didn't say a word
I didn't mind, just looked down and breathed in heat
We began simply, the cutting cold, burned tongues
Then she went her way, and I went mine
I didn't mind, just looked down and counted cracks
In the mornings, my mother and I drank tea.