Friday, August 19, 2011
tea for two hundred
But I must say I'm ready to be back, just the four of us (or even the two of us!), in our cozy kitchen at home. From here at Coniston Water it would be fitting to post something by Wordsworth or John Ruskin or even Beatrix Potter, all of whom trod these rocky hills, but instead I'm thinking of the lovely interior poem my father selected to read at our little wedding, which holds out the promise of a quiet--but not too quiet--latter-years domesticity a deux.
PRAYER FOR A MARRIAGE
When we are old one night and the moon
arcs over the house like an antique
China saucer and the teacup sun
follows somewhere far behind
I hope the stars deepen to a shine
so bright you could read by it
if you like and the sadnesses
we will have known go away
for awhile---in this hour or two
before sleep---and that we kiss
standing in the kitchen not fighting
gravity so much as embodying
its sweet force, and I hope we kiss
like we do today knowing so much
good is said in this primitive tongue.
From the wild first surprising ones
to the lower dizzy ten thousand
infinitely slower ones---and I hope
while we stand there in the kitchen
making tea and kissing, the whistle
of the teapot wakes the neighbors.
Poetry Friday today at Dori Reads. I hope Dori Drinks Tea, too!