Brewing Oolong in Wuyi

Mama teach me how you pour
cha on loaves of kaolinite, how
it drools on the seared edges
of bamboo, how it syrups down
your lip, itching. Reserve a seat for
me behind the mountain where
white clouds abandon you. You describe
the tea leaf as feeble, coated
in soot that glazes your fingers when
you first pick it up, bitter until
you brew it in water. You add slices of citron
and hibiscus to the boil, the only
sweetener you could find. Mama you cannot name
the color of the cha, it is the transparent
lake in Xiamen that Angkong fled, the dust
from the bicycle your baba rode,
and the trail of pink hibiscus in your yard. The resin
that thickens the water, are the ashes
from the yellow note, brooding, boiling
in the pot where the seats are empty.

Tara Tulshyan is a sophomore currently living in Manila. Her works have appeared on K’in Literary Journal and Rising Phoenix Press, among several others. She is currently working on a collection of poems that are inspired by her home, the Philippines.