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.
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