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  • Writer's pictureLeann Shamash

Blue Plate

The glass plate,

cobalt blue

bears a thousand

proud scratches;

no longer gleaming

like an icy lake in February

reflecting a cloudless sky;

instead it bares its blue chest

with pride;

each small scar

of knives and forks

recalls a meal;

family around a small



a lake of kitchen history,

measured in steaming rice,

in hot peppers

wine and hard bread.

The glass plate,

as blue as sapphires,

but no longer as lustrous

still maintains

svelte curves.

It stares up at you

and begs you to recall

meals with noisy children,

parents now gone,

friends drinking tea,

the clatter of silverware,

the music of conversation,

the magic of shared meals.

You look down

and see yourself

reflected in its

fine spiderweb of scratches;

a blue woman

in a scratched

cobalt blue

glass plate.

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