Just got in some tea from Ireland and enjoying a cup while everything in America is going nuts until we can get this election done, in the can with a major crushing defeat of the wannabe tyrant, and finally moving on to getting things fixed. Trying to ‘settle down’ and not get upset by story after story on the news as I ‘count down to ecstasy’, as Steely Dan might say. This poem got born.

TEA

I have become gradually aware of a number of tea drinking rituals
from around the corner
and around the world
traditions they follow in out-of-the-way dens in China
in Irish cottages out on the rolling hills
where the winds can either slap you around
or plant a gentle kiss
as people sit down in India getting away from the din
and out of the weather
I am trying out the different colors and flavors
taking my senses for a little ride
taking it slow
not too many curves all at once
but bending the traditions
by resorting to the speed and beeps of the microwave
rushing to bring on the boil
which is sacrilege I know
not to rely on the tea kettle whistling when it’s time
then leaning back in a favorite spot to take it in
feel the heat going down deep inside
taking whatever route biology dictates
taking off the chill in the bones
and tweaking my health in other less obvious ways
magically slowing down the day or the night
to the point that distant violins fire up
but barely sigh
a smile forms
sleep sneaks up on me
but eyes wide open
this subtly potent herb
black orange red green
it doesn’t matter which
a veritable rainbow getting me to quiet down
carried here from far and wide
but staying awake
not wanting to miss a thing going on
in a time of great upheaval
of lunacy and loss
but not wanting to get too upset either
wanting to live for one more cup
at least.

10.6.20