The size of my tea cupboard is ridiculous. I mean, hey, how many different teas does one woman need? Turns out, quite a few. There’s a lot going on in my tea cupboard. So much so, that I wrote a poem about this gathering of leaves. Just a wee silly one. Here goes:
A whole cupboard full of tea!
Leaves of the world, assembled,
some decidedly civilized,
bagged and boxed in fancy frocks,
sealed and labelled,
the writing exquisite.
Others unashamedly loose,
rattling free spirits,
Half a garden,
picked, dried, packaged,
second flush Assam Mangalam
living right next to common as muck chamomile.
There is justice, nettles, bliss,
a motley crew of herbal remedies,
along with forgotten, slightly scuffed metal tins
of much settled dust,
travelling deep and deeper
into the darkest corners of shame,
pushed hard against the back wall,
where all fragrance dies.
See the three packets in the front row?
They’ve got it sussed.
Don’t be shy.
Make eye contact.