we, the three watchers
a poem
i set two cups of tea,
staring opposite one another,
their steam curling through the air
in twined competition.
they waited for ages
and i felt
myself aging with them,
dying quicker as they cooled.
we three stood alone
as the seat stared,
a plate darkened the table
and i lightened it in silence.
the smudged glass door
became a symbol,
our god
or our undoing.
and they died after a prolonged life,
without knowing
where their contents were meant to be buried,
and i left knowing full well
and i’m not sure which fate was worse.