Pinky Strength

A pinky finger rests, fragile yet firm,

against the cup’s rim, in warmth it squirm.

Faded polish, chipped like time’s gentle kiss,

cradles the memory of simpler bliss.

How small, how delicate, holding its weight,

while childhood stories weave through the plate.

In this tiny gesture, a world once wide,

connects me to laughter, to joy, and pride.