there on the cherrywood where my peppermint

tea sweats, while i lay in the tub, drinking

caffeine from a bottle, popping pills like

candy. i lay and remember. i don't

remember running water.

i remember warm baths, and honey-lemon tea,

and a hot forehead and a whooping cough. i

remember cool fingers, and a warm afghan.

and most i remember sweet lovely eyes and a

soothing stream of loving words. i don't

remember getting well.

but i remember sitting at the window with

camomele tea and her lemon tarts whispering

aspirations to the wind. i remember sitting

at the cherrywood, hair up for a wedding,

listening to motherly advice from inside the

mirror. and i remember spilling empty tea

on cherrywood and laughing.

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