That day
She warmed the cup for the seventh time,
And brought it to her lips.

The heat burned her tongue
and for a second
They came back, the memories.

They took her back to the day
When white was all around
And behind the white was nothing more
Than white like the ice cream cones or
White like the snow angels
or white like the melted cheese on her foods.

But it lasted only a second
Because the water was already cold
And when it touched her lips
The white turned gray
and then black.

So on that day
She warmed the cup for the eight time,
And brought it to her lips.

And it wasn’t until that eight sip,
When she slumped down to the floor
And she stopped
the purity of the white from coming,
That she tasted the tea
for the first time.