I am a teacup.
Locked away in a glass cabinet.
I sit next to a ceramic lady with a white face.
She collects sheafs of wheat in a basket.
Crystal wine decanters and
candlabras fill up the space.
My mother, the teapot, is not far away.
My brother and sisters crowd
around like chicks around a hen.
Dust frosts the glass and decorates
the edges letting all know
we have been here a long time.
Untouched and maybe unloved.
How I wish I would be taken out and used.
To sit on a white tablecloth next to
white cups and silver sugar spoons.
Pretty little biscuits on small plates.
Alas, Teabags are the fast food form of tea.
Tea leaves are unfashionable.
Not many people want to sit and spoon
one for each cup and one for the pot.
They want it fast.
They want it now.
So I sit in the cupboard.
Watching and waiting.