A Morning Cup of Tea

 

When I make my partner’s 
morning cup of tea each day
and methodically dip the bag 
in and out of the water 
which, I have learned 
is a very import part 
of the preparation ritual

I seem to brew 

a stream of memories 

of the old neighborhood

from when I was a small boy

My best friend’s father

a stout, pink-cheeked Irishman

perched on his stool at the kitchen counter

home from his work of driving a cement mixer

talking with one of the fathers of the neighborhood

in his white newsboy cap, blue denim work shirt

black Ben Davis jeans and the slightest hint 

of a pencil-thin mustache

and since no one in my house drank tea

I became intrigued by such a manly figure

gently performing the preparation ritual 

of methodically dipping his tea bag 

repeatedly into the hot water

while his wife prepared dinner

in a flower patterned apron, hair slightly disheveled  

and scolded us boys for running through the house

and stealing all her spoons so we could 

dig holes in the back yard that would go 

all the way to China

Now all these years later

while I struggle to remember 

the smallest of daily details

I can easily recall these childhood memories 

as they gently drift up to me in the steam 

from a morning cup of tea

- dedicated to the memory of Ed and Margaret (Peggy) McGill