Tea Poem by Raj Thampi

She makes the best tea
the right brand, right brew
generations shared formula
and crystal cups
by her favorite orchids
she serve them
always with a pinch of mint or cardamom
years and years
mornings and evenings

Downtown
the dirtiest tables
and the fat counter girl
her torn apron, declaring its age
her tea
raw, burning hot and wild
sweetened carelessly
I drank, I drank
and all the way back home
I smiled remembering fragrance of her sweat.