While My Tea Bag Gently Steeps

I sit and exhale slowly,

 releasing my day into the universe.

I sit with a cup of warm tea in my hand 

and replay bits of today

while I half-watch images in a box designed to engage me.

I sit and make a tally of the laundry not finished,

dishes not dried, phone calls not answered and 

emails destined to be lost in the limbo between "read"

and "replied to" on my phone.

I think about the harsh scolds and wonder

why I have to beg you to practice piano,

or dance, or any other thing you love to do?

(unless I'm asking you to do it-- 

and then it's a wall of

resistance

no army of 

firm words 

and scrunched eyebrows can penetrate)

And then, I exhale slowly,

releasing my frustration to the universe.

I sit beside you on the bench 

and fit your hand over my hand.

We half count, half curse.

We slow down. 

We count while we sing rhythms with a box designed to entertain us.

Slowly we both calm and fall into the pattern.

Ti-ti, ti-ti, ti-ti, ta.

Ti-ti, ti-ti, ti-ti, ta.

Ti-ti, ti-ti, ti-ti, ta.

Ta, ta,  half-note.

We slow down the world.

We make the time signature count for us. 

You and me. 

Both learning something difficult.

Both patients of patience.

I sit and exhale slowly,

releasing your forehead from my kiss.

I quietly leave your bedroom and remember 

that when you told your Daddy that your favourite part of today

was sitting beside me, 

drinking warm tea, 

that was my 

favourite part of today, too.

I sit and exhale slowly thankful for tea, and ti-ti and toi.

I hope I don't forget to tell you tomorrow morning.

I exhale slowly and let my eyes close the rest of the way.