The Dissolve

The bells at St. Jude’s are ringing for tea

while I sit in the kitchen alone.

They have a comfort I can’t even see,

a language I’ve never known.

I dropped a cube in the lukewarm brown

and watched the corners go soft.

It’s a slow and quiet falling down,

no matter what’s held aloft.

A pile of silt at the bottom of the cup,

vanishing into the heat.

There isn't a way to pick it back up

or make the bitter thing sweet.