Warning: Poetry

Eeeeek! Poetry!

Well, what did you expect? You are in the tea room, after all. Here, I'll make it purple. That'll help.

Last Spring
She wants to buy me curtains.
Honey, for herself,
potpourri and something to put it in.

“What do you put this in?”
she asks.
“Bowls.”
She pokes around the strainers, considers a teacup.

“You have bowls mom, I know you do.”
She abandons the teacup
for a shelf of decorative plates.
“Not just any bowl,
I mean, you have
nice bowls
crystal and china.
You even have a potpourri bowl.
I’ve seen it,
I've held it,
I've dusted it.”

“What does a potpourri bowl look like?”
“It’s clear, globe-like
with a metal thing on top...
like this! This
is a potpourri bowl.”

She examines it.
“How much does it cost?”
I turn it over in her hands
to expose the price.
She puts it down
and wanders back to the teacups.

“I’ll be outside.”
I smoke and pat the black cat
who opens her mouth but cannot meow.

My mother comes out
holding a porcelain bowl she shows me
“I think this will do,
don’t you?”