In those days
I would put the kettle
on the stove and wait
for it to whistle,
meanwhile watching
the world go on
out the window.
The tūī might find its perch
in the kōwhai
and suckle its nectar.
I would only need
three heaped scoops
of Earl Grey for a pot;
I would count them.
One.
Two.
Three.
The cup would find its home
on the saucer,
and maybe I would notice
that the tūī had found a friend;
I might crack the window,
so they could be my friends, too.
The water would join the leaves,
and I would sing aloud a hymn for God.
It would never matter
the number of verses;
the tea would be ready
when I was.
Its perfume
would meet my nose,
its taste,
my tongue.
Well,
now God is dead,
and I have no one to sing to.
My kettle is electric,
and I drink my tea
one cup at a time
from a mug.
Still, the tūī sing,
even if I have stopped.
I gave life
so much more meaning
in those days;
perhaps it might be time
to start again.
Kit Willett (he/they) is a bisexual poet, doctoral student, Third Order Franciscan, and executive editor of the Aotearoa poetry journal Tarot. His debut poetry collection, Dying of the Light, was published by Wipf and Stock imprint Resource Publications in 2022.
Amethyst Review 