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.