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ode to the mug

updated thu 9 sep 99


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


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.