Revival

My fingers are cold 

pressed against that mug 

you bought me-

I rummage through 

our tea collection-

I still can’t use your favourite.

And I still don’t put a lid over 

a pot of boiling water-

Yes, I know- 

you’ve told me- but-

it’s comforting 

to watch it sputter 

from still 

to effervescent.

I’ve started using that

teapot you hated to

brew the teas we kept 

for special occasions-

I know- 

you’d laugh-

too. 

I watch milk squiggle 

down the mug

with the colour

of your eyes-

as steam dances on the rim-

I’ve forgotten how much

sugar you liked-

I still burn my tongue

to check it’s alright. 

When the tea stops swirling

and everything combines

I bring the mug’s lip to mine

and warm my cold body.