Teapot

Unmittened fingers wrap around you,
         around your roundness.
Hoping for the thaw.
         To feel again,
         To move with ease.

Your generous heat cascades with a welcome splash,

                                    and
                                       a
                                          drip

Reminding us of our warmth and the fire within.
Rekindled not by flames,
                                   but by tea.
Warmth from India, or Ceylon or Kenya.
Dried and packaged before being unleashed,
            in your ceramic belly.

It swells from within.

Through the nostrils,
                the hands,
                the core.

The odour of heat passing seductively from the steam.
To be warm again,
                      and the cold just a memory,
                                     from the other side of the door.

© Sarah Hunter

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