Cup
Consider this cup, with fulsome lip shaped
in an O, vessel for an elixir -
Those lips moistened again and again press
you close for sustenance, drinking in deep
the draught of life, whether with absent mind
or tongue licking consciousness, newly roused.
When empty, your damp sides now dried, full
with potential. When full, fingers grasp you
desiring fluid, water clear and light,
smooth taste, slippery down the throat; when mixed,
coffee grounds, tea leaves, chocolate, fruit ades
stick to ceramic sides for seers, a cat
with furtive tongue licks drops of milk, scrape.
How many lips and tongues will slip themselves
around you in your lifetime, hands firmly
gripped and pressed against you?
On the shelf, you rest, upside-down, aging
with sentiment. The time he pressed his lips
to you, she didn't wash you, till he spent
the night and didn't go away.
Annie Bien
Posted on The Guardian
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