New Tea Cup

New Tea Cup



I have a teacup so big it could hold all of screaming
oblivion in its belly. I could sip death/time
like water heating up so slowly,


no frog would ever realize it was boiling
until it croaked – wisdom –the bag left to steep,
so weak I wish I’d thought to use two.


The handle curves out like an ear, listening,
until I stick my finger through and sip, two fingers


and a thumb on top, really (time is heavier than tea),
maybe even another hand hastily thrown on the side
to steady its shaking


while I bring it to my mouth, spilling dark liquid
which will stain my desk and pants, and be buried
under papers, seep through to stain these
until I remember, or never do, where they came from.


Disregard the dribble down the front,
(time loosens all lips), the line on my shirt,
dark and emphatic like a Rorschach. I am halfway through
the cup, maybe three-fifths. There is a dark puddle
reflecting the light of my halogen desk lamp.
I thought for a moment it was the sun,


but the sun can’t see inside this room.
I can see a white eye rocking in the tide.
I bring the cup to my lips and try to see
my own reflection,
but the tea is too dark to show anything other
than itself. Something about its lack
of clarity makes me want to gulp it down fast,
as though I’ll learn something



in the taste my eyes can’t see, but it’s grown cold.
I swallow, wishing for more sugar.
The cup’s blue interior grows,
the white exterior is unchanging.



Each sip I take brings it closer to empty.
Soon I’ll need a refill, I make plans
to ensure a better second cup.
Two lumps of sugar this time,
to bury the taste I would rather be other things.
Don’t be so hasty,
let the water boil, put the bag in the cup,
milk if desired (I haven’t made



up my mind on that yet) goes in before the water
so as not to scorch, the water
must be boiling while I pour.
Preparation is the key, plans ensure success.


Add water to tea, not vice versa. Sip it slow and steady
while it’s still warm, instead of letting it sit
until it has grown cool,


then gulping down the last lukewarm mouthfuls
in a desperate attempt to drain the dregs,
before the leaves stain my pretty new cup dark
and ruined. Maybe,


I’ll just pour the whole thing out and make another cup,
telling myself I’ll want all of it next time, and if not,
I’ll wait until I’m thirsty


instead of rushing in and drinking everything I see
just because it‘s in front of me. I’ll savor
and appreciate, waste less,


drinkDarjeelinginstead of Lipton,
wash the cup clean instead of just pouring new tea


over old stains. Perhaps invite someone over to share
and discuss the latest gossip.



CL Bledsoe

Posted over on Spillway Review