Pieces of Eight (2020)

Tea With My Mother

I remember the shrill cry of the kettle
Abruptly cut off when being poured
Resorting to a asthmatic wheezing
When returned to the cooling hob
And I remember how the saucers piled up
Each with a tea bag, used but not spent
Perhaps still containing the strength of another cup
Yet never used again, despite good intentions



I never can manage to throw the tea bag out, either, having learned not to from her and being unwilling to change. I just leave it in the cup, which has led to a love of strong brews.