Broken Mug
Broken Mug
October 01, 2008
| Poetry of the Times |
By Richard M. Berlin, MD |
| Broken Mug Last night the wind found all the cracks in the cabin wall. I shivered, thinking about Jim and his stroke. By morning, nothing but flat gray fog the sun brightens yet can’t turn blue. I stumble out of bed, rinse my eyes, boil water for black coffee, reach for a chipped clay mug, knock it off the counter, watch shards fly across the painted pine floor, leave the mess for later, take a tablespoon of sour cherry jam, eat a mouthful, kill a second mug of coffee, a third, study the confusion on the floor, the biggest pieces at my feet, fragments crowded by the door, amazed how far clay shatters and how fast. |
