I like to sing. When I was young, I sang daily. Now, I’m lucky to be taken from the cupboard.
Usually though, on Thursdays, the young man comes to visit, and he likes his cup of tea. He dusts me off, fills me with cold water and puts me on the stove. Minutes later, he realizes he forgot to turn on the flame.
When he finally starts the stove, my anticipation begins. I go over the lyrics in my head. Then I finally get my nerve up and bust a chord. I was born to sing.
At the end of the day, the old lady empties me and returns me to my shelf. In the morning, her housekeeping aide will return me to the dark cupboard. It’s as good a place as any to rest up, hopefully not for too long.
We need more visitors in this world.
The Blue Teapot patiently waits.
TATTOO—Journeys on My Mind by Tina Marie L. Lamb
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