chai tea tastes like
the memory of my grandmother
washing dishes in her daughters ranch
while i watch old black and whites
saturday mornings before
i played in the park across the street

she used to stray out of sight
but    i can’t say  why for sure
it could just have been
to make me feel good
or   perhaps   she needed
a moment of mourning

how she sauntered her stories
with ballroom dances
big band folly and love
for her husband
it    kinda    just for a moment
made me feel there was a place for it all  
even for me

the gentle solace in her voice
as she dispensed peace
in those family homilies
did wonders to ease
my pacing spirit

she didn’t know it (nor did i)
but  in doing so
she saved me    both
from myself
and from the murder
of crows at home

life is a one act play
it’s most endearing qualities:
everyone plays a part
the whole world the stage
and the multidimensional platform it takes

time passes
continuing from
one generation
to another
passing from one heartbeat
to the next

how these memories
season our lives
my cup now empty