All posts tagged tea

more meandering; 81912

Published August 19, 2012 by April Fox

russian spiced
with a splash of
milk and too much
rickie lee is tinny through the
speakers here, but i am
too lazy to move
six inches
and put a record on.

i wish it was raining
(it just started raining as i typed that-
oddly enough)
babes tucked into cozy beds and i in mine
wrapped tight in the presence
of everything safe

i tell him, when he’s gone-
i miss your fuzzy body-
the house is too quiet now, the hush is negative
if i move too quickly
i might be
sucked in
and die.

there is only my breathing here
and that’s unreliable
at best.

fall is creeping in, painting the edges of summer
with cool mornings and nights that feel like
pulling blankets up
and slamming windows closed-
but not just yet.

the trees put up a valiant fight but they are losing
ground, collapsing
one by one
leaves give up and fade
and it’s like seeing them
through glasses smudged
with dirt and tears

i need a time machine
a rewind button
back to sun, to long lazy days
lying in the grass with one arm
thrown over my eyes
keeping watch over the children
by the sounds of their laughter
passing by

when i am scared, he holds my head
cradled in his lap
and brushes my hair back
with his fingers
till i sleep.

post script (on tea and allusions to bukowski)

Published June 6, 2012 by April Fox

he brings me cinnamon tea
with sugar
and a splash of milk
retreats to his spot on the other loveseat
in the other room
where we can see each other through buddha’s face
crafted out of fine wooden beads
(half of them missing,
but still
the eyes are clear)
we’re neither of us buddhist
that’s not the point
mary, mother of god watches us too
from the wall above the sofa
her counterpart, a cowboy
with an infant and a weapon
stares across from the wall
we are not picky in our choices
of home decorator
anyway, i digress-
the tea, and it’s just the right temperature
and i tell him i need to go to bed soon
and he knows i need to write for just another minute
and he knows
(i think)
that these are the words i meant for him
but choked on in my ever-present
state of self-disgust and inability to
the shit that falls out of my mind
onto my tongue

without words, i know that he knows
and we are one year into one thing,
two years into another
solidified and leaving all the fans and followers
with questions we won’t answer
i’m off track now, some bright tangent
caught my eye and led me backward

he brought me tea
cinnamon, with sugar and a splash of milk
and he loves me, even in my
silent, dark
bukowski days.

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