Chai - A Winter Poem
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Chai
The clouds are dark and brooding, whipped
swirls the color of nutmeg. It is days
like this I can’t free my head of you and the only
haven is in nature, the park down the street.
But here is where we first
bought coffee from that vendor. And contemplated
what color the walls should be in the office. Steam
wasn’t the only thing fogging my glasses then.
I remember early mornings, brewing a cupful of my
sweetest Chai for you, how you said love
manifests itself in a plethora of ways, how you
watered my houseplants and I fed your hazelnut
mutt. We stared out windows then. We dreamed, often.
My feet are picking up speed now. The first droplets are falling.
I can’t count how many acorns I have
squashed, how many branches I have
snapped underfoot with the boots you bought me
last Christmas when we made maple
and orange icing, spiked with bourbon. We were so
clever then. We breathed freely, like the wind.
The leaves are falling, shades of turmeric,
ginger, cinnamon. I am reminded how you
warmed your hands against the side of the mug and smiled,
something in my heart told me then:
never look away, never forget.