Poems about drink for dVerse

Tea

This most mundane,
most exotic drink,
prosaic rescue remedy,
trailing clouds of steam
and history, linking me
in my untidy kitchen with
an empress on silken cushions
wielding a bamboo whisk;
a bending woman in
a saffron sari, nimble fingers
picking. I am drinking
history and geography,
a thousand wars,
an opium addict
in a back street den,
watching the dragon smoke
drift like a dream,
I’m drinking gold
and death, and
porcelain cups,
and a ration book,
and a church fete,
and pigs grown fat
on an Irish island.
I’m drinking my
mother-in-law’s first welcome,
and my great-grandfather’s pot
kept warm all day,
my father’s heritage
in clay, and yet
I disregard so casually
the sheer improbability
of this drink
cupped in my hand.

The very wonderful Paul has given us a drinking prompt at dVerse. It is a pub, so I was going to write about gin, but it’s early morning, and I really need a cup of tea. 

13 thoughts on “Poems about drink for dVerse

  1. I should have stuck to tea. What tapestry in that steam! Amazing how ritual immerses the individual in culture. You iterate it wonderfully and end on a fine lily pad — “I disregard so casually / the sheer improbability / of this drink / cupped in my hand.” That all that history flashes forth at all. That it could disappear “so casually.” Amen.

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  2. I love this because, to me, it’s a true prayer of reflection and gratitude on
    “the sheer improbability
    of this drink
    cupped in my hand.”
    Maybe this way of prayer is how so many around the world subsist with materially so little.

    Like

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