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Death Came To Tea

by Karen Suriano

She sat at my sunny bistro table
in front of the walnut bookcase
neatly stuffed with classics and my favorite tales,
heavy ivy hanging down.

She wore a wide brimmed hat of green leafy leaves,
a collar trim of dark pink boa feathers, fat and fluffy,
and an oh so infectious smile.

All else was grey bones and hollow black shadows.         
At one point in our casual comfortable pleasantries,
she absentmindedly picked her nose socket
with a wandering distal phalange.

She caught herself and laughed at her forgetful bad manners;
embarrassed, she carelessly crossed her legs
causing a calamity of clatters.

And though I never saw her take a sip,
she complimented the tea
for its fullbodiedness.

Tea

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