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Tea Kettle Dreams

Coffee didn’t satisfy. The pot switched off before
I had room for another cup. Good thing. I hadn’t
taken my vitamins.

Prayer sputtered, stuck in my throat this morning.
I was too full after instant rolled oats and rye toast
to take my vitamins. I’m trying to get unstuck.

This is a repeat of almost every day, except that
yesterday tea smelled like tree bark. What I’m
feeling I can’t write. What I want to do I can’t do.

This is where I want to write that my breasts are
screaming! But I can’t. I can hear the tea kettle
screaming. My scream is different.

Why? Tea kettles don’t dream, worry, question,
wonder, feel, doubt, think, or hope.

I dumped my vitamins on the cutting board and
moved them into their little piles for today. Poured
some juice.

Have to take stuff to function. I can take them
all with one glass if I’m careful. I was past full but
I made tea anyway. I was cold.

What I want to do I can’t write; what I want to
write I can’t do, and the tea smells like tree bark
again. At least it is hot, milky, and sweet.

When things aren’t right nothing tastes right.
Not satisfied. Can you tell? Maybe it is my age,
lack of courage, conviction, or all of the above.

It bothers me that I may never know. Why did I
take another sensual sip thinking of another me?
Is it the tea or am I having tea kettle dreams?

Categories: Poetry

Tagged as:


Poet, Writer, US Army (Retired)

I dreamed of writing when I was a youngster. The love of books and writing may have helped to dull the pain of severe sexual abuse as I was sexually abused by two men at my father’s place of work from age 8 to 12 or so. I learned about this for the first time when I was 50 years old. So, as a boy, reading was the only place I had to go to. My fantasy world was better and safer than my real world. I loved reading and writing.
Reading books and writing poetry are a joy to me still and are an important part of my life. (See my About Me page on my blog for the complete profile.)

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