Tuesday, June 13, 2006

I'm a little teacup...

A Poem I wrote in 2003:

I look at the delicate teacup
Small and fragile like I imagine
the little old ladies were
who drank from it so long ago

A thing so delicate and slight that it seems it could float away like a feather on a breeze.

Tiny rose buds sprinkled all along the silver lined edges.
The bone china handle molded into meticulous ruffles and swirls

I run my fingers over the waves
down the side
around the lip
Delighting in the silky edges
Cold and smooth to the touch

With the slightest flip of my wrist
it falls hard and fast
and crashes to the ground
leaving nothing there
but shards and powder and pieces
of something that was once
so faultless and beautiful

Sharp jagged edges
Looking to inflict it's pain on the trespasser
who committed such an atrocity to something so beautiful

It is showing it's teeth
proving that no matter how lovely and harmless something seems
With the right motivation
even the simple teacup
has teeth

I look at the pieces
all sprawled out in front of me
begging me to pick them up
and try to rebuild them
To touch them so they have a chance to draw blood

I imagine putting it back together like a crude jigsaw puzzle
Piece by piece

Rebuilding that fine handle and it's swirls and waves
that delicate silver lip

Even if I could rebuild it
it would have lines and scars and would never again be able to
serve the purpose it was born to serve

I would never again be able to bring it to my lips with steaming liquid
because the tea would always spill through the jagged scars
on the cup and burn my skin

The new rough edges would surely mutilate my mouth on contact
my blood dotting the china along side the delicate painted rose buds

No matter how harmless
or how much it was loved
now that it has been pushed over the edge
it can never again be
what it once was
before it fell
and was crushed by a simple cruelty



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