First Sip (tea)
A cup of tea.
The smell of jasmine.
The heft of it in your hand.
The smoothness of the porcelain.
The warmth of the cup.
The heat of the liquid as it touches your lips,
as your tongue tastes.
It is the taste of memories,
of middle earth and Victorian meals
spread with all the proper forks and spoons,
of lonely nights and family gatherings,
of hours on the sofa with a book and your love,
of cats on your lap,
the taste of lostness and hope.
and the taste engulfs you, subtle and strong,
no longer the stuff of ancient history
with all its glory and pain,
but the taste of now,
About this poem
How strange. A poem that is about what it appears to be.
First is what is likely to be a series of “First Taste” poems.