A Wedding Teacup, Toronto, 1907
A life does not consist of objects,
but perhaps objects are its only
certain evidence.
In china, as in flesh, frailty
is sometimes evidence of fortitude.
The wife knew this, her veins
sickly as winter spiders,
the cup on the table a thread
joining her to her mother’s house, reminder
that whatever happens, certain hours
remain the same.
A life does not consist of objects,
but the cup looks round as the world,
stares like time’s one good eye.