Two Songs of a Teacup

 

 

Two Songs of a Teacup

For Caitlin

 

I.

 

Fine, baby’s-ear pink

Belovèd beyond measure

—Already broken

 

 

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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.