If you died tomorrow
I would keep your
Ohio cup,
the one that reads:
cold nose, warm heart.
I would not save the
one from the town
where we used to
live,
where we first talked
outside the market,
where we bumped
into each other
at the cafe
and you told me
the complete history
of your second wife,
over coffee,
as you did everyone
then.
I would throw that cup
away,
perhaps go out and
smash it against the
side of our house
in a ritual act.
And not just because
it is coffee stained,
it has frankly always
depressed me.
I’ve wanted to throw
it away for years.
I would send the moustache
cup from your daughter
back to her,
and return the silly
kitten one to your
mother.
But I would save
the Ohio cup
which somehow evoked
all you had
the potential to be,
and hope
that it would
never break.

4/24/02