Clutter and clumsy,
I don't know why but it reminds me of tea.
You know when you set the pot to boil and if you put your hand in it, it burns like oil?
when you pour the water through the leaves into the cup and do it improperly it makes a mess of things.
Then you have to decide between honey or sugar and really,
do you want sweet tea?
Because nothing is more intoxicating then sweet things,
since they make a mess of me.
So yeah clutter and clumsy are things associated with tea,
because of me.
Vats of pungent vegetables and sauces and meats, all mysteries to me. The smack of chili wafting through the air. My pores sweating. My eyes sweating. Children laughing. A stray cat joining the bustling lunchtime crowd, walking from table to table, hoping, maybe, that someone may swat a fly away and fling a bit of rice or fish off from their messy, curried hands. Fiery stink beans with sweet, sticky tempeh. Smokey squid, fat like a pufferfish, stuffed with tofu. That glossy orange puddle of durian sambal sang. And then from the mosque next door, the call to prayer. So giddy and drunk on food, I said, “Fuck, should I stop eating?” “Or maybe you should just not say ‘fuck,’” advised my friend. Was the food, certainly delicious on its own, made more so by the company and conversation? The beauty is, on this particular occasion, I’ll never know. I dine alone so often that I forget what it’s like to share a meal.