Sweetness on the tongue ~
I drink iced tea the way my mother did
but not as sweet, and with a little mint.
A wedge (or two) of lemon, Mother said,
would take the sweetness down to just a hint
of the three teaspoons she would ladle in.
These days I spoon wild honey from a farm
just down the road. A pale thin gold, like sun
this foggy day, the honey stirs a storm
within my glass. It thickens into cloud,
then dissipates, dissolving bit by bit.
I stir it, and say my mother’s name aloud.
She will not taste the tea, but I drink it.
My mother just her name, the rest undone.
Nothing remains, but sweetness on the tongue.