what little i know (about pu-erh tea)
(i. for matthew)
once upon a time, i knew a man who knew
everybody. once i asked him out to tea.
when we arrived, the tea-shop man called out
"hey, jon? can that be you? it's been so long!"
they'd met in colorado, ten years past.
he came and sat with us, and poured pu-erh.
he said, "this is peculiar stuff, pu-erh.
impossible to get, unless you knew
someone kind in china. but now that's past --
i opened this shop just to sell this tea."
he said that pu-erh leaves are aged so long
most importers thought them spoiled, threw it out.
i drank my cup, and liked it. but without
a single word to say about pu-erh,
i sat silent. the afternoon grew long.
they gossiped about people they both knew
and we went through eleven pots of tea
before i rose, exclaimed, "it's quarter past!
i'll leave you to your pu-erh and your past --
i'm sure that it's been lovely." i got out
to the sidewalk, reeling, drunk on too much tea
and listening. the stone scent of pu-erh
hung in my hair like something that i knew
and never would forget for very long.
anyway, years later, i spent a long
day at your house. the afternoon's repast
included tea. you seemed surprised i knew
the little dregs of lore i trotted out
so i told you my story of pu-erh
and as you listened, serendipity:
"hey, i know you! from davis square, the t --
you talked so loud and wore your hair so long
i recognize you." you poured me pu-erh
to honor that we strangers shared a past
and that old stories can sometimes turn out
to turn a stranger into something new.
as tea-leaves reveal prophecies, pu-ehr
might tell us the long stories of our past --
i wish i knew how it would all turn out.
(ii. a subtext in sestina)
there is something i need to know
but all i can do is fix myself some tea.
i need to find out
how long
the past
goes on.
i just don't know. i brew pu-ehr.
i hear everything as rumor.
someone died, someone i knew
from a long time past.
i drink my tea
in memory. so long
as i find out
eventually, i guess. out
of this stupor,
out of this long
silence. whatever i once knew,
i guess i must have left it on the T,
or did it pass
away, or learn to pass
for something else? we get out
no more than we put in. i drink my tea
but i don't eat; i'm thinner
now. someone i knew
died, perhaps a long
time ago. i need to learn to get along
without much besides a past.
i know there must be new
things out
there somewhere --
could you tell me how to get there on the T?
i try to read the future in the tea-
leaves, but all along
what i really see is just the humor.
i can tell you stories from the past
but you already know how those turn out
and i guess you're waiting to hear something new.
well, i could stand to find out something new
myself, but this past keeps rolling right along --
at least i've got my tea; and i do love pu-ehr.
(rest in peace, ralph opie)
(November 1996 - March 1997)
copyright Vicka Rael Corey
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