Doors can be heavy
they can be transparent
Doors are different than windows,
whatever lies on the other side is anyone’s guess—
elephants or sinkholes,
mint leaves, magpies, corduroy or moonlight.
Sometimes I rip my tea bag when I open the packet.
If I’m feeling ambitious, I will use it anyway.
Straining the leaves when the tea has steeped fills me
with confidence. If I can do this, I can do anything.
Wrapping my hands around the cup, inhaling the steam, I remember other cups of tea.
Morning cups with cold pizza,
afternoon cups with crispy cookies,
evening cups with conversations,
midnight cups with ticking clocks.
Sometimes, I heat milk for my tea.
this is a special occasion and its novelty soothes my senses.
When I drink tea, I forget that I actually prefer coffee.