Sweet tea, the honey nectar of comfort.
Tiny grains of sweetness bleached beyond
recognition taste like unconditional love
against my taste buds. Thick heavy sweetened
milk turned golden brown by processed
leaves held together with mesh and draw string.
The teabag sits solemnly at the bottom of a
china cup, china to keep the tea warmer. White
grains of love sit waiting to drown, to melt,
to transform. Then wait. Patience as the
flavor devours the tasteless water.
Then the milk, enough to create
a shade that reminds me of passion,
enough to cool the water.
Sweet tea, unconditional love in a cup.
Karen Hayward (copyright 2015)