For who did you leave the table set for tea
and re-fold the napkins every morning?

There is a porch dangling off the corner
of main street where a table is waiting for
tea. The tea pot is the color of strawberry milk
and the napkins are green like spearmint leaves--
dried up and waiting to be steeped--
The tea cups lay on their sides--
crooked smiles of forgetfulness in their saucers 
and I left a folded note asking
if someone would come out and sit with me
if I waited there-- or if the
two settings are pausing in memory of people
who might not have time to steep tea anymore--
I wonder if they bickered over which type
to put in the pot-- I don't think I've met
a pair of people who could pick one flavor of tea--
one party always has to relent.
A reply letter on my own front step
explained they drank crisp teas--
early grey or black or breakfast blends--
I wouldn't reveal I like my tea mist to 
bloom in ginseng and lavender-- mincing words
with mangoes and apricots--
I would drink anything to see those
napkins and saucers held in warm hands instead
of sprinkled with yesterdays and rain storm grit. 
So the next day I arrived in the chair. 
I picked up my cup. I knew it was mine
because it was the one with a chip taken
out of it-- I perched it in the saucer
and poured imaginary earl grey while I anticipated
my companion-- she could come
draped in a night gown printed with
mangoes or lavender or alley cats-- 
maybe he was from the west with an accent
from everywhere and no where--
Maybe she wore glasses at the precipice of her
nose and maybe they drank tea for show 
and coffee for purpose. 
Whoever they were they had known me--
the space was for me all along and I knew
because I could see dried ginseg leaves
in the bottom of the chipped cup. I read
my future and my past in them and they 
explained how this was the chair I would
always drink tea in-- so as night fell 
I kept a vigil for my tea partner and 
she or he or they were too shy to arrive
on that day-- I left them a note 
telling them that the tea alone was nice as well
and that I had poured earl grey for them
but that it would be cold by the time
they came to it at our table. In the morning
I folded the napkins.
before I departed I took a last sip of
the earl grey-- cold and nostalgic 
like the empty place setting across from me.