Author's note: In honor of Poetry Friday, here is a prose poem I wrote some years back.
Take trip to Ireland. Read Edna O'Brien. Drink lots of tea. Return home. Think of nothing but tea. Make tea with tea bags. Terrible. Not it. Unable to read Edna O'Brien. Lunch with friend who spent year in Australia drinking tea. Friend says bought teapot after similar tea experience. Friend also recommends English Breakfast. Resolve to purchase teapot. Find two-cup teapot for eight dollars. Bargain. Realize loose tea is key. Milk and sugar cubes, too. Buy loose tea in tin at fancy deli. Have never in life made tea without tea bags. Have never made much tea, period. Cast yearning glance at unresponsive Mr. Coffee. Panic. Australian adventurer unavailable for counsel. Remember not knowing how to bake potatoes. Who knew? Fannie knew. Consult Fannie Farmer Cookbook on tea. Fannie knows. Fannie tells. Love Fannie. Boil fresh water. Warm teapot with boiling water. Pour out. Add big spoon of tea, more water. Strategy involved but do okay. Let pot, tea leaves, water sit. Five minutes later—tea. Breathe sigh of relief. Read Edna O'Brien.
by Susan Thomsen
published in Tea: A Magazine (the only poem I've ever had published!)
Poetry Friday carries on; the posting-poem idea was started (and is continued) by Big A little a. For more peoms and peotry, see also Blog from the Windowsill; A Chair, A Fireplace and a Tea Cozy; Farm School; A Fuse #8 Production; Here in the Bonny Glen; Scholar's Blog; and The Simple and the Ordinary.