Write a poem of love for an object.
A Cake or a Sandwich
Cups lose their handles.
A disc round and shiny:
it being battered carries
no sound resounding and
nothing there to attract me
I could perhaps say.
It speaks to the pragmatic;
and why not the sentimentality of years,
so long in the past but the first
memories are those most remembered.
Like how difficult it was, that small plate
to dislodge, from a Christmas stocking
reluctant to spill its contents. It stays with me
that sharp eager battle and always since then
we have been friends.
How easy the cup, lodged penultimate
in the stocking’s heel, and lastly
the orange; the gift of one item of fruit
such a luxury, so that I set it aside for later.
Turned then to that weak handled cup
and it’s accompanying saucer which
to me in those most meagre of years
was awesome.
But the most cherished remains the bread
and butter plate. The set of three made of tin.
First to go was the cup and then perhaps
the saucer was used for the cats and their food:
both now lost. But the plate, small as plates go,
has remained useful. It keeps company with
my flour sifter; its own stand upon, and that too
is about to be replaced. But the little plate
goes on and on. I, who am not much of
a cook, have had much joy and use of it. We
long gave up hope of its ever holding for me
a cake or a sandwich , my little tin plate and me.
It is sweet and it is useful as it is.
Benita Kape © 31.3.2018
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