There was nothing remarkable
About the day we got the pu-erh
Except maybe
The drumming of your heart
Your gentle breath
Not long before we asked for
Two pots steaming
(Yours china white; mine green)
Your fingers set bottle caps
Buzzing
Stroking the beaten spoons
(“They’re not spoons”
You had scolded me before
Laughing)
But still I made the mistake
Picking up Chigamba’s
Masterful M’bira
The one you brought
(A gift) with the others
In your pack
Where the music slept
Until you woke it
And it flowed
Through you
Knowing it was home
There was nothing remarkable
About the day we got the pu-erh
A few loose ounces
Purchased for a friend
Except of course
The reverence
You gave me
For the whiskered leaves
Old souls
Born of ancient trees
Set to ripen into wisdom
Over decades
In the dark caves of China
(It was so often this way)
What you knew
You offered
Like a kind monk would water
To a thirsty traveler
Exhausted by the world
Dusty from too much doing
(I loved to drink from the deep stores of your mind)
There was nothing remarkable
About the day we got the pu-erh
Except not knowing
How soon
These hours
Would empty
Like a teapot
Fragrant leaves still clinging to the sides
WTF »
2 comments:
you know the reason I first ended up reading your blog was because I read a fabulous story on b166er´s blog about your friend tom and then spent a long time going through the website about him because he was obviously such an amazing person.
I have a few friends like that, one of whom I´m visiting right now and I can´t imagine losing them.
(hold them close)
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