The Glass Teapot Poem by Adora Williams

The Glass Teapot

There's a glass teapot in my china-closet
I take it every night to make tea after I put Nivea on my face
I drink my tea with biscuits I started to go to the bakeshop for
Because there's no point in making biscuits for me, alone

But that was different months ago
I remember when I bought that glass teapot
I left my, you know, Him a post-it note
Taped on the pot. It said:
Heat me! I can go on the stove.
Because Him would wake up for his tea ‘fore office too early
And I would be sleeping until 9 — my work time — because I was writing poetry late

Reading that right now, you would have found that note amusing
But my, you know, Him, told me Him would expect me to wake up
To make Him hot tea

I told Him that was the very reason I had bought that teapot
It is a very convenient teapot, it can be used as a kettle
Porcelain can't hold heat for too long, it can't go on fire
Teapots aren't ideally designed to go on fire, but we
We drank tea all the time, It got tiring
Sometimes you need to store tea
Not romantic, not fancy,
But it's reality

And about the I and the me and the the i's that men love to dot
When the word ‘reality' is mentioned, mine is always questioned
Because I write poetry when I'm not working, and that's for dreamers
A man needs the whole negative space in a woman's life designed over him
His tea made in the morning
A glass teapot isn't enough
Biscuits I made last night are dry
And I'm not making any effort for this relationship

Him always drank his tea with sugar
Him always added more sugar

And if there's something this pointless story taught me is
Adding more sugar to something won't make it better
And too much sweetness becomes bitter

I became bitter, and now I eat bakeshop biscuits
I've run out of post-its
And I didn't get any other block
Not yet

I could blame Him's mom. It's conveniently designed as the mother's fault
Perhaps Him's mom had porcelain and was very protective over it
Perhaps her tea time was too sacred and she loved to eat biscuits when everyone else was asleep
Perhaps Him wanted to play with her porcelain teapot and she didn't like the idea
Perhaps Him's never overcome it

Him didn't have any problem with cups, though

I don't know what it is but Him broke some of my china in a fight
And I never used porcelain again
Not because of Him, but because I still drink tea all the time

Every time a man tries to mess with my tea
Time or waste my time with frivolities about how I should make tea
I cease naming them; until they become just a pronoun object
Like the toys of their childhoods that they don't overcome and project
Onto me

This is all about objects anyway,
I didn't even mention what tea I made that day
It was pomegranate seeds', by the way
In hopes Him, who was still the main subject at that time, would stay
And ignore the implications, the surroundings, teapots and all the rest

Friday, May 13, 2022
Topic(s) of this poem: philosophy,confessional
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