Poetry | Humor
My Morning Meditation
An ode to Earl Grey
In the morning, when the city wakes up slower than it should, I find solace in the steam rising from my cup: Earl Grey, my urban elixir, dances with the dawn. The scent of bergamot mingles with the persistent hum of the streets, creating a cracked symphony only I can appreciate.
Subway rattles beneath my feet, but here, on my fifth-floor walk-up, I am above it all. I watch the city stretch its limbs, yawn its metallic yawn. Pigeons flutter like thoughts I should’ve had yesterday. An old man in a fedora argues with a cabbie, their words peppered with the spice of impatience.
My Earl Grey sits on the windowsill, its heat battling the crisp morning air. Each sip is a dialogue, a question mark in liquid form. What do you see, city? What do you hear when no one’s listening? The tea leaves whisper secrets in an ancient tongue, as old as the bricks in my building, as timeless as the sky turning from slate to sapphire.
The smell of fresh bagels wafts through the window, mingling with the bergamot. A baker’s song, warm and inviting, was punctuated by the laughter of a child chasing a dog. I take another sip, the warmth spreading through my veins, a comforting embrace in a city that often feels like it’s trying to push you away.
In this moment, I am a connoisseur of quiet chaos, a lover of the little things that make New York what it is. The honking horns and distant sirens become a backdrop to my private concert, my morning meditation. Earl Grey, you are my partner in this dance, my confidant in a world that never stops spinning.
The sun climbs higher; the streets grow louder. I drain the last of my cup, a bittersweet farewell until we meet again tomorrow. Earl Grey, you remind me that even in the heart of this urban jungle, there is elegance and grace. And perhaps, just perhaps, there is time enough for one more sip before the day truly begins.
Ani Eldritch 2024
