ELIZA Raspberry herbal Was her favorite flavor. The steam opened her pores And closed her Eyes Under the raspberry lampshade The lemon light Lit her silver head, dozing. The cat brushed her Legs and licked the saucer. – T
JUAN VALDEZ The devil, I'm sure, is brown. My belly aches Because of that Infernal man and his ass. Pure evil is dark Like a black volcano, Rich as poisoned soil, And conjured out of Colombia. – ROTS
LILY Everything about her was White, Except her coffee, Which she took Black – In her porcelain cup, Held high Above her snowy skirts. – ROTS
SUMMERHOUSE She counted Sailboats with her sips – One, two, three, Four – The salt breeze swirled The sand around Her ankles. Clouds moved softly in the west, And the sun set slowly In her eyes And on her teacup. – ROTS
TIGERLILY TEA I have done my truck with Trouble, Nights spiced with screams – And gingerfire haunts my dreams – Bent over double, I groan as my mug steams. – ROTS
EARL GREY "Rubbish," she said, her Slim fingers tracing the edge of her saucer. But the sky over the Thames was sneering at her, And even the steam from her tea seemed to whisper, "Your spring morning is about to end." – ROTS
HILL O' BEANS Don't tell me about coffee. I know coffee – it's the Aroma that sang to me Every morning when Aunt Fran stayed with us, Or the Irish Cream bean I carried in my pocket At the grocery store. It's Kelly and me eating Chocolate covered cappuccino Beans at Fountain Abbey And then getting belly aches. It's Columbian poison, Hot and granular, steaming Next to a chocolate muffin, Phil's double coconut latte Like warm sugar and sour milk. It's me in a café in Paris, Reading Auden while the Frenchmen laughed at me And my light brown coffee with cream. – ROTS
BREAKFAST She whistled into her tea, And her warm toast, And her eggs – Not to cool them (she liked them hot), But because she liked to blow A bit of herself into them, Gently, rounding her mouth to make the air cool. – ROTS
SPINNING My dream was a snow globe shining in a glass window. I was humming the curtains up, window to window, but my teakettle whistled too long in the kitchen. In my fancy a man said I would never grow old, I would never stop needing a western window. "To see the sunset." His voice soothed like honey-lemon tea. For hours and days I sang while spinning. I furnished the empty rooms till the world called me back. In the morning a mailwoman handed a letter to me. I was trembling as I opened it. The words extended to the sea. – ROTS