Pottery on the Acropolis

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By Brian Geiger

Sometimes, Mrs. Aubrey drops her glass.
She doesn’t hear it break. And she doesn’t see it fall.
It just scatters through the planks.
And burrows in the earth.

I often see it on the porch. Dripping and moist in the sun.
It holds the weight of ancient ruins. Unremarkable now
But indicative of something vibrant long since passed.

She knows that Henry is gone,
But some mornings she forgets and brews two cups.
That’s when she turns her porch into the Acropolis,
The proudest jewel the earth has worn. A relic of life.
Or a testament to love.
     
Brian Geiger is the editor of the Vita Brevis poetry magazine.

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