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.