Over a cup of tea!
September is an impish month
when summer and autumn play cat and mouse.
One time a dollop of hot glow, another time, a dash of cool breeze.
In the half-asleep morning, I teeter myself to the stove
to make tea - a brown liquid in a brown ceramic pan, sweetened with brown sugar
and just then, it goes- the electricity.
I stand still, stare, blink and wonder
how to jumpstart the morning when the battery has died?
The body moves, but the brain lingers near the stove, holding the saucepan half filled with water.
And so the next two hours go by doing the usual and mundane
the one he and I have been doing nonstop for years
two unpoised performers filled with exasperation-
bathing the children, school uniforms, chobani and bananas, water bottles, and goodbyes.
Two hours later, the electricity is back, and I hasten toward the stove
Just then, he calls — my husband.
He inquires about me and the tea
"Common, you anyways had it in office, imagine me," I gripe
"It's not the same, you know," he replies
and then we slide into silence
sharing the long story of a short life—
about the regular and routine
easily blinded by majestic milestones
the unmagnificient squabble over less sugar and more ginger
why is mine less than yours
is there some more left in the pan
can you please reheat mine
why your mother puts too much cardamom
and why my mother too many cloves.
About how the little girl is forgetful, just like you
and the boy is a python geek, just like me
about you don't know to pick fresh cucumbers
and I am too picky with tomatoes
about did you sleep well, as if you care
you stayed up late- watching porn, right
why can't you ever think straight? I swear
is a tale that didn't unfold the way it does every day
and that, as Robert Frost once taught us both in high school, made all the difference.
Read this poem on Momspresso
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