Ode to a crystal pitcher
I was saving that
for a special occasion.
And so it sat, for years, unused in a cupboard,
hidden away for a special occasion.
Through the years of nothing special
it sat, and waited,
until it exuded the nothing-specialness
that had been blamed on it for so long.
But, like Neruda’s socks,
or like his fireflies,
putting it in a jar for long enough
is sure to kill it.
And I find, nowadays,
that pizza with friends,
or a cheeseburger with my Beloved,
is plenty special enough to warrant
the use of this pitcher.
I was saving it for a special occasion.