Teapot World – May
1. two women – charlie
It rained and rained, a cool wind,
Unusual for May,
Then the black clouds drifted elsewhere,
Leaving behind a lessening gray.
The doorbell rings.
I open.
She steps through, Diane,
Timid and white-skinned,
Short-cut hair, forward lilt,
Bright, wide smile, to the thin side,
Her hesitancy overrid by expectation.
I lilt back and cannot see myself but realize: I –
Uncertain, and olive-skinned,
Long hair unclasped, backward angle, only slightly,
Warm, hopeful smile, self-conscious,
Un-hesitance overrid, a little, by my so-mean past.
Hello-hello, the scents change,
The pause in the entranceway,
The steps to the table,
The sound bouncing off the wood and walls –
We are two women, after all,
Moving gracefully in silence within but not without,
The opposite of men.
She sits, I pour the near-boiling water,
Relief and giddy connection now dripping from her face,
Security drips from mine.
She tilts back, I tilt forward, enough –
The late May storms subside.
And you-and you,
Oh, we-oh, I,
And pour a second time, the red-brown Earl Gray lightly steaming,
The transparent teacups – the good ones,
Revealing the same colors in both.
2. two women – diane
Stand up, turn left – I always turn left
At the end of the day,
I always look down at the patterned marble floor,
(19th century: tan, white and brown,)
‘Good eve,’ ‘good eve,’ ‘see you tomorrow,’
Smile and smile and step-step to the
Subway, step-step through, down and up:
It’s raining still. Open the umbrella,
Left, again, 150 yards, right,
A thankful right, up the stairs, stamp my ticket,
To the middle back, (the bus seats are comfortable, I’ll say,)
Drops of rain and gentle sway, gentle sway, home –
Sometimes I feel my skin bubbling away,
Revealing the meat beneath, vulnerable,
Salt, tight, sore, breath, breathe –
I’m not young anymore.
There’s the corner tree –
A pine, old and old and thick and lovely, no,
Beautiful, old, young,
Up and step and wait for the ‘phuussh’ as the door opens, and
Left, and left again and left again but right
To the elevator, (a thankful right.)
My skin remains elsewhere,
Even as I step through the door.
I call Charlie: ‘hello,’ ‘hello,’
‘You?’ ‘Here, of course, common’ up!’
I slip off those shoes and slip on these –
At least my feet have found a someplace safe.
Up the stairs and to her door.
(It’s so nice she lives above: I have to turn right,
Not left, and right again,)
And ring and smile –
Sweetly, a modest smile
Like a first summer day in late spring,
Nothing behind her teeth and stretched skin,
Only a hum looking for
A place to find an echo.
I step through and hum
My own echo back, feeling a something safe
Almost return to the rest of me.
3. the echoes of two frivolous teacups
High, and word sound,
High, and up-beat,
“Is it time again?”
“It is again a moment.”
Light, air,
Lift, bottom,
“Will it be the tea?”
“Will or not, teatime it is.”
Clangle, and rub,
Clunking, and wiped,
“Oh and oh, I hope it is she and she!”
“Oh-ho and ho-oh, do you feel their echoes, free?”
In, purrs the water,
Infused, the hold,
“I do like this moment, I do.”
“Does it tickle, as well, for you?”
Her lips, on our edges,
Her touch, as a kiss,
“Do you think the other stays long?”
“Short or long, she will.”
The pause, so relaxing,
The pressure, removed,
“Now, I feel complete.”
“Why don’t they always leave their conceit?”
Once more, she drips in,
Once more, a tickle,
“Is it always this way, one questions, one answers?”
“It is never that way: one answers and questions.”
The day, will slow down,
Though keeping its place –
“We’ve always been here, it so seems to me.”
“As teacups or earth – what will we be?”
Time will move us and
Tinker with memory.
“Do you love me as I?”
“As you are I, we do.”