Copper Ghost

Pulled it from the back, all dull and green,

A copper cup, forgotten, rarely seen.

Its dented lip, where years had laid their claim,

A ghost of something, whispering my name.

The light caught hard, a scratch, a sudden gleam,

Through verdigris, a waking from a dream.

It felt so heavy, more than it should be,

A weight of silent history, just for me.

My fingers traced the cold, hard curve and bend,

A relic from a past I can't transcend.

So it sits there now, on the counter bright,

Holding nothing, catching dusty light.