Tea

I wait with a cup of tea,
for the tears ro fall. 

The tea is too hot to drink,
so I burn my mouth. 

I burn myself 
on ginger and mint. 

I sip until the tea is gone.  

The pain was beautiful
because it was brief. 

And the heat,
the ginger and the mint 

They lingered only momentarily,
burning.

In that moment,
my mouth could summarize. 

I read about mint. 
it grows scraggly in the misty moors of Scotland. 

Scratched and cold, 
she boils it over a peat fire. 

I saw some outside my front door.  

I read about ginger. 
It was a commodity  

On a trading vessel bearing the Dutch company flag,
its smell is more pungent then the sea.

I found some under the fluorescent lights of my supermarket. 

After all my sipping, 
only the tea bag was left. 

I sucked it. 

The taste of everything lingered,
but it was cold. 

Only then did the tears fall,
late and empty. 

I sucked harder,
tearing the fabric with my teeth. 

The burning gone 
The pain gone
The passion cold