She makes a Cup of Tea

I watch her hands tremble

Like windswept, unknowable flowers

drifted too far from the soil bed.

 

She shakes away the excess crystals,

the tasteless, white nothing

cascades from the never-quite-silver spoon

into the stained mug. 

her sublime nails are glossed

beyond perfection by nailpolish, 

that diamond in the platinum ring

glints in the television's halflight

which shows the Gaelic League game.

I could find in the white satin

of their scars untold stories,

feel their heritage and history,

how small flower like hands

can be snapped, broken, forced

into unspeakable corners and crevices,

how the slower pulse

is testament to the cruelty of men

but I only watch sugar

falling like tears

or snowflakes on the last winter flowers.

Reviews

[Aidz]

Wow the words you spill forth like sugar, scatter fine stories upon the screen, love the tale it tells, great write :)

[Emily B]

your words are sublime, your stories unsurpassed, it is always a treat to find new poetry from you here