The Tea Party Of The Soul Poem by Shalyn Stachmus

Today
I realized that
I am what I am not:
All of my little
poison thoughts are
like dainty desserts upon
paisleyed platters.
They drip, drip.
Gravity is rich
and real,
like the bread of tea time.
They sit, and sit.
Lovely teacups bow
and pray to feel.
They clink, clink.
All of my little
threaded smiles are
like cheerful china full of
hot, hot red tea.
They drink and drink.
But today
I found behind me
millions of clumps of dirt:
Like round, little, brown
ugly ducklings,
they waddle, roll,
and run away,
scared of my heels.
They flee, flee.
I have never seen
such active dust come from
underneath my skirt.
Like old remains
trapped in Time like
God Himself.
They're free, free.