Afternoon Tea - Feb. 2, 2026

only once did I sip

and sup on a scone

in Scotland with a friend

and his mother

Yes, cream please, I said as

she poured the tea, familiarly

mothering the teapot’s top and

handle, as steam misted my glasses

I swirled the poured cream - that

spoon, no matter how delicately

I tried, clinked on the saucer,

annoying the silence

a perfect silence, too, relaxed

and poised for the soft chatter,

that slipped through hot black tea

and falling crumbs

and as the tea cooled,

words slowed and the sun set,

it was the clock’s pendulum

which bit hard on the stillness,

reciting the same thing

over and over,

so we sat and listened

to time gossip