Teacups, A Poem

Home sick today, with an extremely bad cold,  I have been drinking copious amounts of coffee and tea  (and water, yes I know it is good for me!). With Kleenex in hand, and in my pajamas,  I immersed myself in writing and I came across one of the *very first* blog posts I wrote called Teacups.  I posted it several years ago.  And even though I am quite proud of it, this addiction to poetry instigated me to rework it into a poem rather than rest.  I do think it lost a little something in the effort, but here goes anyway….

Link to the original here:  TEACUPS

close up photo of teacup and saucer
Photo by Kim van Vuuren on Pexels.com

TEACUPS: A POEM

Afternoons with my Grandmother

Spent sipping tea.

Hot tea, no matter the weather.

Tea from delicate, beautiful

Oh-so-fragile teacups.

Golden and gilt edged and flowery.

With porcelain so thin you

Could see through it.

 

A cube or two of sugar,

The lovely sound of metal against glass,

A small silver spoon

Resting on a matching saucer.

 

Those teacups on the sideboard

Each afternoon selecting one,

My Grandmother and I.

And even though

I chose a different one

Every

Single

Day,

It felt as though

I never drank from

The same one twice.

 

They were treasures,

Little filigreed gems

From generations back,

Gifts in a time

Of hardship

Or celebration

Or friendship.

 

Favorites worn and chipped,

Handles glued back on,

Always practical and frugal,

Never thrown away.

 

And so I sit

On a sunny afternoon

And I sip tea

Hot tea

From a delicate,

Slightly battered teacup

And I remember a little girl,

Who felt

Grown-up

Loved and

Special,

Drinking tea

With her sweet, sweet Grandmother

In a sunny parlor

From a beautiful teacup.

 

 

5 thoughts on “Teacups, A Poem

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