Sunday, October 4, 2020

hidden behind the leaves


drinking tea from tin cup, clumsy semper fi etched on one side, dated 1943, dent, blackened bottom, hands warmed, memories fragrant of aunt who sent bits and pieces of father's life as her own life ebbed away, mia saying how odd to think of you with family, presenting stout new cup with subtle red tinge of mashiko clay, same cup now sitting just so on bare pine shelf

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