Little Dish

This little dish is worn out now

Its soft pink glaze is chipped in spots

There is a crack that runs across,

A crescent edge is broke clean off.

Yet I use it often times.

Its pleasant shape of curving edge

So charming and feminine

Can one place gender in a dish?

Perhaps the flavors of foods she held

Have suffused themselves

And given weight of character;

A grand luster to this little Limoges.

Gentle style, pleasing form

All that rest on her adorned as

She carries nourishments with open hand.

Care in handling – perhaps some bandaging

Such damage does command.

Still useful in her artful way

Through a lifetime of bumps and scrapes yet

Her filigree curves smoothly to the touch

The world grows things to throw away

This plate I’ll keep another day.