Two Songs of a Teacup
For Caitlin
I.
Fine, baby’s-ear pink
Belovèd beyond measure
—Already broken
****************************
II.
The teacup is a treasure from Granny,
Last of the set, eggshell thin.
Palest pink, like a baby’s ear.
Delicate, translucent, radiant.
One of a kind.
(Gangsta voices in my head whisper,
“Nice teacup you got there.
It would be a shame if something were to happen to it.”)
I keep my treasure on the highest shelf
And try not to worry.
A dusting disaster topples it.
The teacup shatters.
I have a beautiful teacup.
And imagine what it’s like to be this teacup:
So unique, so fragile.
I hold it tightly to protect it.
The teacup shatters.
I have a perfect teacup.
Joyfully I hold it up to show my friends
And accidentally drop it.
The teacup breaks.
Warmed in its transient beauty,
I drink from my teacup each day,
Wash it carefully, set it on a clean towel to dry,
Keep it on the shelf with my jade green teapot.
I love it, care for it,
Warm myself in its joyful radiance.
—Knowing it is already broken, I am free.
