Tea

The delicate floral -

tiny blushing buds and spearmint leaves,

wrapped around the edge of it

like lace from a vintage gown

worn to church on a Sunday.

The China was thin,

fragile as fingerbones

and yet it tinged

like steel

when it met it's saucer.

A small tiny chip

rested on the silver lip of it

a testimony to it's well loved age,

and the many hands that have held it.

I brew a strong pot

of Earl Grey

and chuckle at the paradox -

southern bumpkin American girl

has taste for gentleman's steeped sophistication.

It smells of home

the burgamot hugging my aches

where I have been chipped - like this cup.

I sip.

I savor.

and I remember,

what my great grandmother always said,

etched into this cup

from the fingers who anxiously

traced her lace before me

"There is nothing that cannot be solved

by a good cup of tea"

Author's Note

Interested in the Wonderland Challenge? Learn all about it here:

Participants Poems: