Louise Jenks on wed 8 sep 99
I have had this poem on my wall next to my mug collection for a while. I do
not know who wrote it.
in Cincinnati OH
ODE TO THE MUG
Morning Coffee, morning ritual.
Staring blurry eyed at a wall of mugs.
The first big decision of the day.
Formed by the hands of friends.
By my own hands.
By the hands of unknown craftsmen.
One with a handle so comfortable it seems an extenuation of my arm.
One with a rim as soft and delicate as a tender kiss.
One with a glaze so rich I see new subtleties with every use.
I am not just choosing a mug.
Each one has a different story to tell.
I am selecting a friend with whom to commune.