A poem by Michelle Kicherer
Illustration by Ryan Johnson
She stands
to make her tea
a long process, now
Steadying against the wall on her way to the stove,
she pauses
fills the kettle
click
burn
wait
rest
She sits down, tired,
waiting for the boil
and closes her eyes.
The whistle screams
she sighs
her fingers tense on the back of her chair
and she pushes off the table
she pauses, breathing hard
looks out the window into a yard:
long grass; old flowers
she pours water into her cup
and leans against the counter,
watching as the bag drains through the water
clear to honey brown
and she sits down, again
closing her eyes,
bergamot in the air
mug in her hands,
she looks out the window
but she closes her eyes as she sips her tea.
long grass; old flowers
is my favorite part. is that weird?
❤
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