Plate of Bone China

2

Bone China, Plate of Bone China
A plate resting near our kitchen sink became

her missile, as her hand gripped bone china –
bone china from her Mother’s china closet;
what power – behind her left hand with a twist
in her wrist she made bone china fly – red roses;
delicate leaves flew into thin air.
Bone china barely missed
his head – slams into a wall covered in wanes
coating – above a radiator near a box of Kleenex next to
a large magnifying glass: she never knew what she
was aiming at – if she missed
as piece of china split into smithereens – a few feet
away – our parakeet hung upside down,
clinging to a wire cage –
‘Tweetie’ never bobbed its’ head on those days;
five long minutes went by and she smiled, began to
sing a song by Frank Sinatra –
I came out from behind my bedroom door –
they called it – mood swings.

2 Comments
  1. Bone China, Plate of Bone China
    Bart says

    Thank you, Nancy, for sharing this intense piece of poetic prose.
    Bart

  2. Bone China, Plate of Bone China
    Nancy Duci Denofio says

    Bart, thank you so much for always being there – reading – and commenting – hopefully I will be catching up with you! And yes, this one does tell the story of bone – china… Always, Nancy

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