Brian Looney

Poetry. Art. Yoyo.

surreal

Erzulie's Happy Tea

Brian LooneyComment

My Erzulie’s making tea, making tea.  I can hear the kettle rumble.  Never does it shriek.  My Erzulie’s making tea.  It isn’t green or white or red, nor is it yellow or black…oh no!  My Erzulie’s making tea.  I’d share the recipe if it wasn’t Divine.  My Erzulie’s making tea.  I drink it on an empty belly.  My Erzulie’s making tea.  First thing in the morning.  Must not eat for hours.  My Erzulie’s making tea.  I ain’t scared of nothin.’  I am feeling well.  I divine the Truth. 

With loving eyes, she watched me quaff it.  She brushed my hair behind my ears.  With loving eyes, the only constant.  The body melted down around her.  With loving eyes, she watched me quaff it.  My Erzulie, making tea.  She loves me incapacitated.  She loves me seeing visions.  She loves me seeing her.  With loving eyes, she watched me quaff it.  Administered like medicine.  My Erzulie, making tea.  She serves it on a silver platter.  The lights take on a greenish hue.  My Erzulie, making tea. 

I wonder where my days have gone.  She brews it double strength.  She knows I take it straight.  My Erzulie’s making tea, making tea.  A moon so bright, it might be sun.  Mustn’t stare directly at it.  I dip my finger in the stream of light.  I paint my face with it.  I rub it in my eyes.   

Tea so strong it charms the snake, fractals taking shape.  My Erzulie’s making tea, making tea.  She keeps me well sedated.  She knows I can’t say no.  Tea so pure, the walls will breathe.  Tea so fine, my love runs lucid.  Higher, higher, high above.  I have only her to thank.  My Erzulie makes me tea.  I must remember to say grace.