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New Tea Cup
by C.L. Bledsoe I have a teacup so big it could hold all of screaming oblivion in its belly. I could sip death/time like water heating up so slowly, no frog would ever realize it was boiling until it croaked – wisdom – the bag left to steep, so weak I wish I’d thought to use two. The handle curves out like an ear, listening, until I stick my finger through and sip, two fingers and a thumb on top, really (time is heavier than tea), maybe even another hand hastily thrown on the side to steady its shaking while I bring it to my mouth, spilling dark liquid which will stain my desk and pants, and be buried under papers, seep through to stain these until I remember, or never do, where they came from. Disregard the dribble down the front, (time loosens all lips), the line on my shirt, dark and emphatic like a Rorschach. I am halfway through the cup, maybe three-fifths. There is a dark puddle reflecting the light of my halogen desk lamp. I thought for a moment it was the sun, but the sun can’t see inside this room. I can see a white eye rocking in the tide. I bring the cup to my lips and try to see my own reflection, but the tea is too dark to show anything other than itself. Something about its lack of clarity makes me want to gulp it down fast, as though I’ll learn something in the taste my eyes can’t see, but it’s grown cold. I swallow, wishing for more sugar. The cup’s blue interior grows, the white exterior is unchanging. Each sip I take brings it closer to empty. Soon I’ll need a refill, I make plans to ensure a better second cup. Two lumps of sugar this time, to bury the taste I would rather be other things. Don’t be so hasty, Bledsoe-2 let the water boil, put the bag in the cup, milk if desired (I haven’t made up my mind on that yet) goes in before the water so as not to scorch, the water must be boiling while I pour. Preparation is the key, plans ensure success. Add water to tea, not vice versa. Sip it slow and steady while it’s still warm, instead of letting it sit until it has grown cool, then gulping down the last lukewarm mouthfuls in a desperate attempt to drain the dregs, before the leaves stain my pretty new cup dark and ruined. Maybe, I’ll just pour the whole thing out and make another cup, telling myself I’ll want all of it next time, and if not, I’ll wait until I’m thirsty instead of rushing in and drinking everything I see just because it‘s in front of me. I’ll savor and appreciate, waste less, drinkDarjeelinginstead of Lipton, wash the cup clean instead of just pouring new tea over old stains. Perhaps invite someone over to share and discuss the latest gossip. |
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