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Sally Bliumis-Dunn – Ⅰ

A Single Thing 




I would curl my fingers


around a cup,




and have it stay a cup,


warm against my palm;




but I am always dreaming –




the walls of the house suddenly


thinner, more like sky:




the cup reminds me of a ladle


or maybe a delicate pail




as it slowly lowers into a well,


wet mossy sides,


small circle of water




reflecting from the bottom.




Sometimes I would rather stay




with the simple teacup,


round, blue,




and ribbed from where the potter


raised it with her hands.