The elusive illusion of stability
in the regular routine
Of my personal pilgrimage through life
Manifests itself in the single solitary chalice
Of steaming sweet cinnamon tea that I drink
Each morning before the day begins.
The enticingly exquisite aroma
Of this distinctive, delectable beverage
Evokes subtly sensuous memories
Of sumptuous, succulent cinnamon buns
Whose saccharine sweetness slides down the throat,
Coupled with the compact kick of caffeine
That I need to initiate intellectual inquiry
And commence cognitive function each morning.
As I sit silently in my living room this morning,
Slowly savoring each delicious drop from my mammoth mug
And treasuring each solitary second before the morning madness
Of electronic communication commences,
I wonder how much longer I will be able to enjoy
This brief, blissful interlude –
This escape from the reality of scarcity and want –
That I know will end –
Unmarked by anyone but me –
Sometime in the days and weeks that stretch before me.
For, you see, I import my precious tea
And the creamy sweetener that completes its delightful deliciousness,
And the plague is closing the borders of neighboring nations
And making the procurement of either tea or sweetener
Much more tenuous and problematic than previously.
“The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away.
Blessed be the name of the Lord.”
As I watch the diminishing supply of deep dark tea bags dwindle,
And cans of sweetener vanish without a trace,
I wonder how long the Lord will provide
And when this luscious libation –
And my ability to cope with daily life –
as ephemeral and evanescent as the emotion it elicits,
And I will be tempted to bless the name of the Lord
as the prophets of old did in times of deprivation and despair.
© Sharon L Bryant 2020