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.