Life's crises under rug,
I take steps to make tea.

Mug to faucet, pop
in microwave, heat

one minute.
Swing open cabinet.

In your basket, neat
in rows, teabags.

Still arrayed
as you left them,

flavored hues a spectrum
of sweet ginger, bergamot,

soothing mint.
Arranged just so.

In our closet, my shirts
hang disheveled.

On shelves, my books
displace, my belongings

jumble.
Unstirred, the tea

steeps in sobs.