Green Tea

Bradley Samore

As I write in my notebook with its yellowed pages
yellowed not from age but from the green tea I spilled
I remember pulling it from the flood
dripping and limp
then setting it on the porch to dry

I remember finding it the next morning
wrinkled and wavy
the pages rustling like dry leaves

I remember sitting on the couch
not knowing what to write
just sitting there with a blank page
the faint smell of tea still on it