Summer means
the green plates.
Depression glass.
Picnic plates with
My daughter thinks
they’re Christmas,
but she is wrong.
That’s only incidental,
Their real reason
d’etre is
eating outside.
The glass-topped
table wiped
The wind chimes
The French doors
open wide.

We always eat
on the shaky side.
Sometimes the blue
& whtie cloth,
whic does with
the plates, not in
colors but spirit.
Sectioned plates
are a challenge.
They re not
for the faint
Things don’t always
fit right.
Cole slaw oozes,
into the whole
width of the plate.
Green depressison
glass is my favorite.
Not just because
my mother had
it. I loved it
even then,
the way it lets
in light.
She had little
desert dishes, I don’t know
where they went.
And a cake plate
she used
for pineapple-
My favorite cake.
I had this plate
when I was grown
& always felt
in the fire
it was what
I’d save.
But it fell from
its shelf & broke
when someone
slammed the door.
I saved the pieces,
I have them still.
I used to see plates
almost like it,
but never quite.
Most are plainer.
Hers had a pattern
that was quite
lush, etched
into the glass.
I’d like to find one
like it, though
I know
it’s never be
the same.