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Orchids and Sugar
November 4, 2014
On Sundays
Mother brews tea.
An art.
Orchid petals float face down in the water
and I can still see the flower veins through the steam.
They remind me too much of my own saturated capillaries
for my liking.
I turn them over and look away.
While Mother watches with eyes
blacker than the iron kettle,
I add two spoons of sugar.
Mother turns away from me
and talks to our nanny in mandarin
thinking I can’t understand.
I put the sugar back into the cupboard
biting my greedy tongue until I taste blood
laced with yellow orchids and white sugar.
© Roger A., Atlanta, GA
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