Delft Blue
My Delft blue plate, a replication of an imitation, lies smashed in the trash. Do not know the who nor how, never heard the crash. Flat circular center an idyllic scene sealed beneath clear glazed glass, cracked. 17th century Dutch fishing sloop, cuts towards wild reeds by a bygone windmill, beside a thatched roof cottage before a deciduous wood, white clouds in a soft cobalt sky, distant seabirds soaring. The plate’s raised outer rim replete with blossoms and feathered leaves. My Delft blue plate, thousands of meals, sticky egg yolk, thick turkey gravy, steaming potatoes, sweet corn, buttered vegetables, juicy meats, tangy sauces, pasta, chili, sushi, marmalade. Each dinner I exhumed bit by bit, bite by bite, the motionless wooden windmill, gulls suspended in air, the slicing sloop. Tiny figures on deck, lifelong companions. Everything wanting wind. I sit by the window in my 10th floor concrete cage, peering through grimy glass. Rows of residential towers resemble headstones in an amber haze, along the barren banks of an asphalt creek. We all wait for wind. I scroll the internet seeking a duplicate Delft blue plate.
(published in "Boats Against The Current", 2024)
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