Teatime

Staring out the window

with a cup of tea pressed hard

against her cheek as if the heat

were an emotion she could feel,

she fixed her gaze upon a spot

of absence from her pain. A middle

distance where her eyes could rest

before returning to the chore of living;

to the housework and the children

and the dark inside the room.

I knew enough to let her be

but not enough to understand

how she could sit there

with that cup in hand

just staring; not until the

day still years away

I began to crave that

drink myself.

—