Sake Love

I have always loved sake.

With first sip,

a soft glow,

like Christmas tree lights

in my chest.

A medium once told me,

I was Asian in a past life,

Perhaps I knelt or slept

on tatami mats,
hands wrapped

around a porcelain teacup,
steam rising like a prayer.

I must have known rice language—

how it bows in the field,
and yields to water and time,
becoming clear, luminous,

fermenting into sake.

Sake does not burn.
ands reminds me of the curve

on my childhood tiled roof,

and how I loved walking barefoot in the rain.

At my age now, I love its health benefits—

amino acids and heart-protecting polyphenols:

my rationale for sipping

from a small porcelain cup.

Ancestor spirits are

poured into each cup

and fill me with gratitude.

And every time I say
I love sake,
what I mean is:

I have walked myself home

With each sip.

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By Diana Raab. Published in The Argyle Literary Magazine.