It slipped from my hand to the granite counter top
and split jaggedly in two thick, heavy pieces.
Everything I think I know tells me it’s Grandma’s dish,
though I don’t remember scooping mixed nuts from its smooth curve
or picking candy from inside its pointed armor.
When it cracked, I did too.
In the evening I rinsed that day-old sink of handwashables
and thought about the recent past.
It was a heavy day, full of life, death,
It must’ve been the thinking.
It’s never about the dish.
Well done. So much imagery. So visceral! I love this!
Thank you for reading and sharing your thoughts, Lorien!
It sounds like you shared a special bond of love w/Grandma in your heart that is carried everywhere you go. Thanks for sharing it reminded me of sweet memories of my Gram!
Hi, Cher. Thanks for reading and sharing your thoughts.