Maybe tea is an accurate representation
of the human heart.
Maybe I’m just crazy.
Water
clear, glossy and pure
is foundation and stepping stone
all in one.
You can drink it alone, warm or cold
or infuse it, colour it, add to it,
but you can never take away what it started out as.
In the process of brewing,
you’ve got to bring water to a boil;
get things simmering, shake it up a bit,
get the ball roiling, if you get me.
Then you add in the catalyst,
a bag of leaves.
Now watch.
Clear water all shook up
from the heat of the moment
being addled with the colours of fall
reds and browns, orangey tinges leaking
into the water spindly arms weave around, grasping for hold.
Finally, the clear is not so clear,
it has evolved into something so much more.
A beautiful brew has emerged,
ready to delight the senses with its warmth, its spice,
but you forgot about it.
You left the kettle on the back burner,
it slipped your mind.
You can come back for it all you want
but it’s a wasted opportunity;
you left the leaves in,
so now it’s cold, dark and
bitter.
You lost track of time, and now it’s useless,
wasted resources sitting in stalemate.
So you throw it out, and you resent yourself
if only for five minutes. Why did you make a pot of tea,
when you could have made a cup?
Created dishes, wasted water, used the last of the milk
drained a bag of leaves for all its worth,
expended energy for no reason.
Excess work
because you were thirsty.
What does this remind you of?
Once upon a time
you stole an extra minute glancing at the boy
and your all-too-new heart stuttered,
bubbled and boiled,
like the water in your tea.
You bubbled and boiled,
the heart on fire.
Then the catalyst dropped,
the boy sort of knew
(only sort of)
and you didn’t want him to.
(only sort of)
that’s when the tendrils snaked around
sweetening and spicing everything up.
The colour of conversation changed dramatically
from light to dark the longer you kept your mouth shut.
Its been a few months now,
everything under wraps and only now do you look,
and all you can find
is the bitter brew you’ve stewed.
You should have opened your mouth
before this.
But you didn’t
and now your tea is
bitter and cold,
palatable, but unsavoury.
Like tea,
there isn’t a lot you can’t fix
with patience and (sugar) sweetness.
So pour in your sweet side
and see what happens.
Iced tea, anyone?
