Tea with milk and sugar

in a tall glass at the kitchen table

on a rainy afternoon

she had hers in a mug

always the same mug

I had my grandfather’s glass

he didn’t drink tea with us

he slept in front of the TV

she was already little

I never was tall

I liked the smell of boiling water

I took the sugar from the pantry

I watched her raise her arm

to fetch the glass and the mug

we used the same tea bag

we both liked our tea weak

we never really talked

we read together

we played cards

the milk and sugar

covered the taste of tea

it was sweet and warming

just like her

I don’t put sugar or milk

in my tea anymore

I can do nothing but
miss her