Kyobancha

The tea smells like pipe tobacco.
The smoky aroma comes from an extra
firing to which to producer treats the leaves.

My dad smoked a pipe for a time.
Maybe I drank several cups
of that tea out of nostalgia
for an old nausea I’d lost,
one wrapped in the pleasant pill
a deep reaching memory.

My first girlfriend smoked.
You can learn to love the musk
of cold tobacco smoke when it comes
to you in lover’s lust-drunk mouth.

So here’s the cup of displeasure
I steeped from the fallen leaves
of memories that are filling back in
with the stink and boredom that only
brews in the present cup. I drank
it a few days and gave the rest away.