Be Careful
A poem by Erin Russell

Chip

How many lips have brushed

this gilded rim? How many

teeth and fingertips across bone

porcelain; paper thin china painted

yellow and pale pink

the petals of lilies

and green, green olives of Tuscan hills

and the blue salt of sea waves.

Delicate, unsteady hand

looped around its arm,

there are several chips, a crack under the handle,

a smudge of paint.

Be careful.

If it could sing, it would sing of

fingers grasping, holding, and of every quiver

that sent ripples across the pool pushed to the

tip of lips pressed into its face.

How the heat burns.

How the pieces crumble.

Be careful.