I do not know how one became singed
Or how these two orphans decided
that they would be the ones to remain
out of a set of four place settings.
This remaining set reminds me of
an old apartment–my first–
and friends who gathered there
for meals poorly prepared.
The faux jade, scratched by years of
use, soy-stained, packed, stored,
re-packed, and trucked from home
to home, giving just enough to bend
like dual survivor trees from a twicetold
fable in which their meant-to-be matches
break. Pressure comes from all sides.
And it comes for us all.
The pop of a plastic lid; the click of
these two orphans working together
in irregular rhythm. Privilege and memory
and a tiny joy–dinner guests on a quiet night.