Adjusting to life's changes with hope… through poetry, haiku, and commentary

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?

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2 Responses to “Tea Kettle Dreams”

  1. Paul

    “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.”

    Love this.

    Liked by 1 person

    Reply

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