Grandpa always kept his teapot on
the back of his wood stove.
Tea was his favorite drink.
His accent restricted him from
pronouncing it the way we all do.
Instead, he called it “tay.”
Whenever I went there to make
sourdough biscuits for him, he’d
boil eggs that tasted delicious
with homemade butter.
[Which I often churned for him]
The eggs were always a treat for me,
as we rarely had eggs at home.
We had only a few hens that hid
their nests in Murdock woods.
Once we finished the tasty treat,
Grandpa would almost always look
at the stove longingly and say,
“I sure love me tay.”
He’d make up some “tay,”
and we’d spend hours talking and laughing—
best friends from different generations.