The steam rises
then falls
the heat so intense
it moves water
contained in its place
full of promise of a safe space.
Boiling water bubbles slowly
moves the air in structured grace.
The heat so intense
the water’s breath struggles
to escape its place
through a too-tight space.
Water whistles its distress
and warns of eruption,
possible destruction
of water’s very life and form
No longer able to flow in norms,
left on the stove-top too long
over too high a heat,
preparing for 2025 promises
unneeded, unwanted, unexpected.
The pot empties indecently.
No sudden soggy mess;
just scattered patterns of distress.
All we wanted was a cuppa tea.
That tea thrown overboard
not so long ago.
Now, heat too intense
begins to melt the pot itself.
Overheated, its healing waters
empty into dry, thin air.
Air too thin and too tired to care,
that hot air cannot fill our need for tea.
Our tea cups remain bare.
The only cuppa I may ever again see
is the one left in my memory.
annarino writes 