My Stubborn Teacher (Poem)

I still say “tea” with the same guttural “chrrr” that you used

And count the seconds to steep it using my fingers and my breath.

When I chant, I hear your lesson on the downward emphasis

Of “shok” at the end of a line in a Tibetan prayer.

I find books we studied a long time ago reappearing on my shelves.

You’re far away in another land in a home that I refused.

Yet I find that you remain with me, as you said you would.

Do I even want you to go away?