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Joshua Gervais

Free Verse to Tea

 

It was 3:37 am when the man I knew as my father left,

he rose gently, like the steam from a fresh cup of tea,

he left this place of white halls and doctors, fluorescent lights and beeping machines

to go somewhere greater, somewhere brighter.

The night beat down unto me, the air was sticky, scorching and soupy,

Like the breath of the devil himself was filling the air around me.

“There is nothing to do. I am so sorry. He is gone”

I didn’t breathe. I didn’t speak. I didn’t believe.

I thought back-

The tea was warm.

Like the gentle sunlight that spilled mellifluously across the dark oak table,

The tea was sweet.

Like the memories born from silent mornings shared with him.

The tea was comforting.

Like the familiar routine of dawn-

rise and rush to that dark oak table where he awaited me.

Lost in reverie, I came back.

Rehearsed apologies, feigned sympathy, awkward comforts.

The heat of the night crawled through my fingertips,

boiling my blood and burning my resolve.

I stepped into the nearby kitchen,

perched atop the counter- a kettle-

Mocking, jeering, screaming of mornings left unshared.

Bruised knuckles and bloodied fists,

fractured dishes and shattered hopes.

 

The tea is warm.

Like the gentle sunlight spilling across the dark oak table,

The tea is sweet.

Like the memories born from silent mornings shared with him.

The tea is comforting.

Like all those long past dawns-

rise and rush to that dark oak table where he awaited me.

I still rise and rush to the same dark oak table,

but now I sit alone.

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