This Is Our Morning Tea

I wish I could capture

the essence of this moment—

and bottle up

the tender glimmers

in my tear ducts.

The quiver of my husbands lips,

a soft sigh

as he lets in tears

at our daughters

high-pitched “ahmmmh”

She blinks—

catches my gaze—

and offers a full, gummed smile.

Her nose crinkles

beneath eyelids

that resemble his

as he sways,

holding her.

She swipes

her little scratchy nails

along the soft wooden table’s

natural edge.

Empty rice bowls from Hanalei

serve as our teaware.

The gaiwan rests its lid

with a repaired a crack from travel,

It’s filled pu-erh tea

his mom gifted

for the holidays.

She sniffles—

Wim Hof style—

in and out,

telling us

her emotional state,

expressing her needs.

Attuning to her nervous system

He places his nose

on the crown of hers,

and checks inward.

What does our little one need?

He sighs.

And knowingly adjusts her in his lap.

The jungle birds call.

Palm trees sway.

And my attention expands.

I am at peace.

This is peace.

And I let it all in.

Safety.

Connection.

Relaxation.

That’s the recipe.

I smirk

Knowing it’s the recipe in sex,

the recipe in sleep,

the recipe in parenting—

the recipe

for life.

She drifts off

on his knees,

his hands

cradling her head,

and her arm

draped along his feet.

And this—

this is our morning tea.