And the coffee cups

In the auction rooms.

Two glass bowls

Rose bowls.

They were hers,

Then they were mine.

They once looked beautiful

On the mahogany tables

In her chintzy sitting room

When we had tea together

With damask cloths

And silver teaspoons.

Removed to my life

They  looked out of place

I am not a rose person

More an earthen pot

And wood turned person.

Hand woven and roughly carved.

I am not the person

She always wanted me to be.

So today I took the rose bowls

And all the days of roses

To the auction rooms

And said goodbye.