It's Still Life

A Conversation Over Tea Leaves

I’m having tea with Dad, which is weird because he hates tea, and
even more weird because Dad is dead, but that’s dreams for you,

and he sips from a teacup thinner than a grub’s spun gauze, and
eyes me square on, and says, What’s troubling you, my girl.

And I look into my teacup, half full of forsythia-ambered fluid, and
I say, My tea is always cold. And the world unsettles me, Dad.

And he says, You never did manage change well but it’s not you
that’s changed. It’s the world that’s changed. Whether you move

along with it doesn’t much matter, girl. It’s unimportant, it’s
all puff below clouds. Mere moments don’t count for much.

And I say, I wish you’d told me all this before you died.
Before they discovered that the sun has a big hole in it.

He looks into his teacup, and says, I really hate orange pekoe.

 
NaPoWriMo Day 14 – write an imaginary dream poem: I picked the word “teacup” from the list.

It’s National Poetry Writing Month, which explains the surge in activity. I’m following three different sites generating daily prompts. Writers’ Digest Poetic Asides, the National Poetry Writing Month website (NaPoWriMo) and my old friend, Walt, over at Gnomes. All of these pieces are drafts.