Precarious, the delicate cups tinkle
as she set the tray down.
My aunt distributes the tea, steam
wafting up from the glasses balanced
carefully in our laps.
It is too hot to drink.
through the crowded living room –
clumps of sugar
into full glasses –
the lava liquid splashing!
on hands and legs.
The room bursts into squeals.
My uncle and his sons have impeccable aim.
The cries explode into peals of laughter
that fuel the angle of their cocked-back arms.
My aunt shields her face with a plate and sips –
she is a season survivor.
Soaked by the projectiles, another round of tea
is produced. My uncles and cousins ping-pong
their eyes back and forth as they plot the next trick.
There are only hours left in our trip.