I Just Met My Father

“I’m changing my name,” she said.
“I’ve just met my father for the first time.”
Payment rang through
A transaction for a pot of tea.
Paraphernalia was handed over.
We exchange some coins.

Beyond those, I had little to offer
To my smiling young barista.
Me – friendly tendril of a smile
From a familiar face in her shop.

Her — eager to share the part of her life
Precariously perched on the surface of her thoughts,
Though time and place
Offered little option for elaboration
On this momentous life event.

But still she sated a need, at that moment,
To say it to herself.
Again.
Out loud.

A few kind words from me, finally,
Completing the transaction.
A scoop of tea leaves,
Some hot water.
A fragile, white, porcelain cup.