Poems
Horizontal Memories of Tea
Holland blue buried under
Sweaters, wrapped to protect
The breakable from the fragile.
My dime store trove, my tea set.
I sing the cheerful chatter
Of a five year old who spies
Her father on the couch
In sunlight. His big toe wiggles
From a sock hole.
Out the cups and saucers
For communion, four lemon wafers.
I can’t find the teapot top
Or his blue eyes that blur
To the applause of a game
Show. I offer a cookie.
My father stretches for another
Beer, pops the ring, pours secret
Shots foamy into our tea cups.
Published in Harpur Palate