Judith Frost

Returning from our Sabbatical in France and Japan has put me in a new place, with new routines and many messy house renovations! With my teenage daughter in school for the (almost) first time, I am delighted to have more time to write. I've been honoured to have my work appear in Time of Singing, Esprit, Glad Tidings, Utmost Gallery, Devozine and, publication pending, in Prairie Messenger.

I was walking by the Loire river in Orleans, thinking how it was the colour of tea, when I began to think about my father and how, after my mother's death, each morning he would frugally reheat the last night's tea. I wrote the poem in my head as I walked and scribbled it down on a scrap of paper in my pocket.


On cold mornings
my father reheated
the last night's tea
murky and brown as lake water,
drank its poverty of warmth
sweetened with habit

Eyes averted,
I wondered at his frugal mind
squeezing the final drop
from yesterday's leaves
careful to retain his hold
on a cracked teapot,
desperate to restrain his need
for a fresh infusion of hope

Copyright 2006 Judith Frost