A coffee mug in a house
of an old woman
I lived with years ago
was made of clay, red clay
with dust on it
tea dust, cobwebs, splattered on its broken handle
no one looked at her drink from it
unless they heard her loudly sip
I watched her clutch it tight
wanted to buy her one
unbroken, with handle
And when I bought one after years
She took it with glazed eyes
And then i saw broken skin
I could never replace to heal.
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