My grandma’s pea-cup



My grandma’s cup is dainty,

Exquisite and fine

I love the way the leaves and vines


Rimmed all around with a soft brush of gold,

Soft pink petals oh so gently


The handle arches so dainty

As I hook my little finger,

And munch my fresh sweet peas

And let them linger

In my mouth.

Breathe in deeply as I lift it from the saucer

And feel I really am the perfect


But the saucer underneath has a hair-line crack of gold

And there’s something lurking in the cup

My grandma’s never told:

That pure white linen treasure of a quaint tea cup

Used to live beside a table which was

All shook up,

The woman that she bought it from lived quite near,

but kept a pale composure so they would not


The fist that pounded walls and flesh and hearts

That were sunken

When her poor dear husband came home

so drunken.

But sometimes she was lucky and lay fast asleep

The stairs a high mountain that he couldn’t


He’d wake only to pee in her precious crockery,

His sleep untroubled.

And in the morning he would not remember,

For she briskly tipped it away

Ready for

Another day.