A Little Cup {b-item:2092777}

A little cup of serenity.
Angel sweat i like to think
or courage in a teabag.
time heals, how trite but hopeful
I tell myself lots of things
he didn’t leave me for her
the I’m-a-fabulous-person mantra
a better life ahead bullshit.

it’s all in the kettle now filling
with water
and the burner flaming the pot until steam whistles while I watch
waited,watched and waited but he didn’t return
letting the hurt fill the vessel to boil it away.

shock and shame shoved down my throat
disappointment hate left me crying inside

then tears stream to the sky on wings
with the vapors.
Oolong aroma wafts to merge with my feelings
creating a little dance of drama and despair, loathing
and yes, death desire on sylvia plath proportions.

then the feel of fingers wrapped around
nice china with saucer — otherwise you might as well drink coffee or scotch,
and maybe a Walker shortbread biscuit
as ladies and gents across the pond.

I write and write and live on through
thoughts journals stories fiction (which is
real life in disguise subtle jabs at those who must not be named
stacked unread in shoe boxes under the half empty king bed)
cathartic yes but
quiet moments
and a stilled mind keep sanity hanging on just
a little bit
longer.

Sip. I Wish.
Sip. I Dream.
Sip. Sleep like a baby.
A fifty-ish, abused, cheated on, overweight by forty-four pounds, baby.