The Scent of Tea

The scent of tea

in the
still dark winter
morning
every day’s start
of my own
conjuring

a ritual

boil water
slowly pour
over a small porous pouch
that’s been lifted from 
a decorative tin
then placed in a
warm wide china 
cup
while dim morning light
reveals curls of
scented steam

my teacup waits

as the prosaic coffee
is spooned stirred plunged
poured sugared milked 
delivered

and then

I return to it
elbows on the counter
my hands
gently fluttering through
the scented vapour
sending it farther into the air

a breath

afloat
I
like a small boat 
slowly passing a tropical island
catch the spicy waft in the air
of a memory
another time and place
a morning prayer.

- Anne Renouf