The act of believing

I started writing a poem about democracy
but I have ended up writing one about tea
and the way I take for granted
that it will slide up and down
the walls of the cup at my whim
just the same way
I expect my soup to behave
or a bowl of pasta
and yet nobody reads fortunes
in the fava beans
left behind at the end of soup
or the splodgy pattern
of tomato sauce
after the spaghetti is done
so I am left to wonder
why we invest so much faith in tea,
searching in its leaves for symbols
of good fortune,
believing the tea will guide us,
and then suddenly I understand
it is not the tea itself
but the act of believing in the tea
that gives it meaning,
which is when I realize
I have written a poem
about democracy
after all.