There was a porcelain teacup on the shelf hidden away behind the others Long ago she had found it in a dusty old shop and held it with care as many would close to her heart cradling it like something precious She took it home that day
There on her shelf was a little teacup on the shelf shown proudly on display Dainty and sweet with little tea stains lips had left a little pink smudge on the corner Loved and appreciated the teacup sat
There was a dusty teacup on the shelf among the packed boxes it went Surrounded by windows draped by black and the smell of salt in the air Packed away and stowed in a closet it stayed
There in the box lay a little teacup dusty and chipped a bit on the edge A reminder of times went by of tea parties at the kitchen table of little ladies dancing on the carpet
There among the other cups and such the teacup lay as they mourned another lost and pulled their lips to a smile remembering good times gone by and loves lost Seeing the disrepair and with much care they took the teacup from the box
There on the counter a teacup sat freshly dusted and glued together It stood filled with rosy tea and healing herbs brought to a mouth kissed gently They let out a sigh sat the cup down and began to cry
My grandmother died recently, she used to always sit with me on the bad days and drink tea from antique cups, we would dance and sing around the kitchen till I felt better. I miss that about her. All my poetry seems to come from sorrow, perhaps I can use it to promote healing instead of despair.