My Mother’s Teaspoon

To the odd tea spoon in the jar,

 

I hope you felt welcomed when

you passed over my threshold;

I know the bottom of the stairs

is quite cold but you’re metal

so I assumed you wouldn’t care.

 

I know you’re bigger than the rest,

ill-fitting in this new home,

no longer the companion of your own kind.

But, if you open more doors

you will see the mismatched crockery

and realise the woman who lives here

see beauty in all things.

 

Take me, a wind battered door

with a letterbox which rattles

and a chip in my frame,

she still values me every day;

still polishes my brass handles

and peers through the peep hole.

 

Just as she does not discriminate

against you, when pouring and stirring

her habitual cup of afternoon tea.

 

You see, the woman who lives here

sees beauty in all things.

 


 

© Kristiana Reed 2019

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