A Cup of My Own

I handed over my reading log to the librarian. Then she reached into a cardboard box under the counter and pulled out the coffee cup and in that moment I knew it was my own. The cup was heavy as a melon in my hands, peach-colored and shaped like an apple. I devoured the quote printed on its side: “I always imagined that Paradise was a kind of library” Alone with my cup at home I boiled a pot of water. As I selected my flavor of tea I caressed the cup, running my fingers up and down its smooth curviness. A whistle in the background. Now is the time. I poured in the boiling water added the teabag and a moment later standing alone in the kitchen I raised the cup to my lips and made it my own.