Ceramics

The cabinet is full of a mismatched set,

but my hand still knows the weight of the blue one.

I reached for it today without thinking yet,

forgetting that I don't have to pour for someone.

There is a chip in the rim where you let it slip

back when we were laughing in the old apartment.

I ran my thumb along the jagged little lip,

trying to remember where the spark and the heart went.

It stayed cold on the counter while the kettle screamed,

a porcelain witness to a quiet, empty room.

It’s funny how the things that we once dreamed

can end up as a shadow in a cupboard’s gloom.

I put it back behind the plates and the jars,

so I don't have to see the gap where you stood.

We’re just two people under different stars,

and I’m learning how to stay alone for good.