The Tray by Naomi Shihab Nye
Today’s poem is for my mother, a fellow tea-lover.
The Tray
By Naomi Shihab Nye
Even on a sorrowing day
the little white cups without handles
would appear
filled with steaming hot tea
in a circle on the tray,
and whatever we were able
to say or not say,
the tray would be passed,
we would sip
in silence,
it was another way
lips could be speaking together,
opening on the hot rim,
swallowing in unison.
when was this poem written?
thanks…
I don’t remember which book contains this poem, so I don’t have an exact date. I believe Nye started publishing in the 1980s, though. She is still currently writing.
okay… thanks a lot…