Artwalk POETRY and ART

The Blue Teapot

Over how many years
we’ve poured the tea
like liquid friendship
laughed and cried
over our teacups

When I first saw
the twining knob
the twist on the handle
I thought them whimsical
but my thumb on that curl
controls the pot
and its scalding contents –
steadies the world

I know the woman
who shaped the teapot –
she lives in the valley
Full six degrees
separate me from
the woman who picked
the small top leaves
on a hillside in Asia

We now invoke them
name them our sisters
as the fragrance rises
as we pour the tea