Here on the table where I put my cup, my mother put hers before me. A trace on the table marks the place very clearly, and with the care she took to keep her cup in place I line mine up precisely.
As I set down my cup, and it is still warm, it contains the opaque depth of her tea and I can taste the sugar and the milk. Through the affinity of place we remember one another back and forth, and confuse the lengths of our hands as we replace, and reach, and replace.
My cup will not stay still.
© Tamarin Norwood 2008
