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.