Ode to a Mug
8 a.m. tea steeps in my old blue mug
A vestige from 1971, a first purchase
In this union that’s clocked 16,892 days.
Time once stretched forward, infinite,
While the minutes jetted by,
Filled with moves and babies and promise.
Marriage begun with two day-glo daisied orange crates
Today encompasses rooms with
desks – 6, beds – 6, dining tables – 4,
Chairs and bureaus and mirrors, legacies of
Past marriages begun with their own infinite time.
Then the smooth cobalt sides and generous interior
Had promised both style and substance,
A hopeful template for our decades to come.
Now we two must share this old friend,
Its mate long since gone.
It lives safely in the back of the cupboard
Appearing in the quiet of morning or twilight,
Inexplicably unchipped and uncracked,
Souvenir of what was,
Promise of what could still be.