It has been a good day for poetry. And tea. I bought myself a little crappy teapot the other day, finally and cheaply from Woolies. I was so surprised at how pleasant it was to pour the tea from, into the china cup. Then I found this poem on Jeanette Winterson's website, but this is not the whole of it:
I like pouring your tea, lifting
the heavy pot, and tipping it up,
so the fragrant liquid streams in your china cup.
Or when you’re away, or at work,
I like to think of your cupped hands as you sip,
as you sip, of the faint half-smile of your lips.
I like the questions – sugar? – milk? –
and the answers I don’t know by heart, yet,
for I see your soul in your eyes, and I forget.
Jasmine, Gunpowder, Assam, Earl Grey, Ceylon,
I love tea’s names. Which tea would you like? I say
but it’s any tea for you, please, any time of day