Extraction

I’m trying to save—well, not money, exactly.

More like a sense of having enough for once.

I fished it out of the saucer, a tan ring

left behind like a map of a place I’ve already been.

It’s a little paper bag, a soggy, limp thing.

It looks like a drowned animal at the bottom of the mug,

its string tangled around the handle like a wet leash.

I poured the boiling water and waited.

The liquid stayed pale. Just a dirty window color.

I poked it with a spoon, trying to bruise the flavor out,

but it’s gone. I’m just drinking the memory of tea,

warm and thin and tasting slightly of the metal cabinet.