Portrait as Afternoon Tea
Pack me tight inside a freshly baked
scone—preferably one with
fruit chunks all throughout—(yes,
cranberries are just fine), and
serve me at afternoon tea.
It’s a tea I’ve long forgotten the
name of, but with a dash of
milk and some brown sugar, I could
steep in a cool ceramic mug all
day. Serve me with a dish of cream,
a bit of homemade jam. I wouldn’t have it
any other way; in this form I am pure, the
center of it all—English breakfast,
mid-morning tea, afternoon tea.
Leave me for the crumbs
after the tea bag is dry and the
milk is all used up, when the
China glazes over and the
kettle goes cold. I’ll just wait
here until tomorrow’s tea rolls around.
Callan Latham lives in Ohio. She is currently an intern at the Wick Poetry Center, and is a poet as well as an aspiring novelist and occasional playwright. She has been published in Little Rose Magazine, Hot Dish Magazine, and Proceedings from the Document Academy, among other places. She finds inspiration in the mundane and in the strange.