Tea Ceremony

By Stevieslaw

Sunday morning breakfast
was as close as we
ever came to sacred
ritual in our house.
Mom slept in
and dad would
orchestrate in
his best robe–
the eggs here
the butter there,
and the coffee pot
to the right of syrup.
He cooked the cakes
and bacon
in the cast iron skillet
his grandfather
had brought with him
from god knows where.

We ate
until our ribs ached.
Until we could
barely breathe.
Until the very thought
of rising from our chairs
was far beyond
our quiet contemplation.

     
The author’s work has recently appeared in Eclectica Magazine, The Ekphrastic Review, New Verse News, The Drabble and Misfit Magazine.