i touch my finger to my lips,
the cue for Nonnie and me to bow our heads, close our eyes, and hush,
our secret to polished silver and earl grey.
Bless our family, and the needy,
and all the other sheep i count
in grandfather clock rhythm.
Milanos water my mouth from their poise-in crepe cups as
my eyelashes, in squint-scope, filter
antique sunshine flooding the window, pouring all over the tea set,
dusting Nonnie's prayer
to flush the face powder
on her cheeks, once she opens her eyes and smiles,
into a blush.