I give thanks and praises as I brew the tea—
tea leaves and spices from distant lands
their journey long, their origins far
How fortunate we are to hold such gifts
how blessed I am to prepare this warmth
for the ones who fill this house with love
I never curse the dirty dishes
the endless rhythm of cooking and cleaning.
For there are those who would give anything
anything at all, to hear laughter echo again
to feel the weight of a shared meal
to set a table for more than one
It is always sudden, even when planned—
the silence that settles like dust
The kettle boils for no one but you now
a lone cup sits idle on the counter
And the kitchen, once alive with purpose
becomes a quiet place of learning:
how to cook for one, how to live alone
The tea is bittersweet as it cools in my hands.
~ Pretty Thunder
