[in poetry]
I woke up this morning wanting to make tea.
I slid open the tea drawer
stared at the multiple jars on display.
What am I having today?
There’s English Breakfast and Russian Caravan
chamomile and peppermint.
I’ve got regular chai and sticky chai
matcha, genmaicha, and hojicha.
I’ve heard of more magical ones like
Fairy Blend and Eternal Sunshine
and... wait for it
Night of the Iguana Belgian Chocolate Chai.
At the back of the drawer lay a discarded pack
I don’t think I’ve ever seen it in the past.
It smelled of black leaves, blueberry, and lavender
The packet crinkling as I opened it up.
At that moment I heard a knock at my doorstep
Who could it be?
I opened and saw a little girl, no older than 7.
She had a mop of unkept wavy hair.
In her hands, a scrapbook of cut faces of herself.
I let her in and offered her a seat.
Wait here, I said. I’m just making tea.
I scooped up the tea
One teaspoon, two,
maybe three.
The leaves slid onto the metal strainer
clinking as it reached the bottom.
Then, another knock,
A girl of 13 holding a thin notebook
wild ambition on her face.
Oh, hello! I said. What have you got there?
“It’s my book of poetry, of course,” she said.
“It’s the first one I ever made.”
I let her in and offered her a seat.
Wait here, I said. I’m just making tea.
I grabbed the kettle from its place
and tucked it under the tap.
As I opened it, the faucet gave a loud hiss
water quickly rushing in.
As I stood there poised on the sink,
I heard another knock.
Who could this be now, I think.
A young mother of 18,
a newborn in her arms.
Her eyes looked at me, scared
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” she said.
Oh darling, I said.
I let her in and offered her a seat.
Wait here. I’m just making tea.
I placed the kettle back on
and watched the side light up
staring in anticipation
at the waters dancing.
At this point I’m aware of the three girls
now sitting at my table.
Who are they? Why are they here?
And did I make enough tea?
Are there more coming?
I wasn’t that surprised anymore
when I heard another knock at the door.
I opened it and saw a young lady.
Behind her smile were eyes of despair.
“I feel stuck. I just want to get away.
Why must love always be filled with pain?”
I looked at her tenderly and gave her a hug.
My love, it will be over soon,
and you will see, you would have grown.
I let her in and offered her a seat.
Wait here. I’m almost done making tea.
I made another batch.
Who knows how many more I will need?
I watched the steam rise
and let the leaves steep.
Turns out time is all we need.
These group of girls sitting in my home
The one I’ve lovingly curated all these years
all light-filled and breezy.
They wouldn’t have known
the darkness it used to be.
I heard the door open, just a little.
There was someone out there.
I looked up and saw a lady in her early 30s,
wavy hair down towards her back,
ring on her finger,
a smile on her face,
confidence riding in her eyes.
“I heard there was a tea party. May I join?”
Of course, I said.
She happily sat down,
munching on the scones laid out on the table.
I poured them all some tea.
Offered milk and honey.
As we got all acquainted,
I looked at the door.
Will there be more?
A quiet part of me thinks there will be.
I stood up and opened it completely.
So when they come,
they will know that
they are welcome here.
I’ll let them in and offer them a seat.
I will say wait here
and make them some tea.
