LITTLE BOWLS

A minor obsession that started ages ago,
I was single, just moved to the city
where from a neighborhood import store
I purchased a pair of delicate finger bowls
painted with Asian-inspired blue floras

a pretty little match joining
my mismatched plates and pots
essentials found at a garage sale

its sister shattered
during a precarious washing
while the other remains intact
in service every morning
routinely holding breakfast
of berries and granola

From those first little blue bowls
my acquisition reaches a dozen or more
though none are frivolous or idle

a means to pass the olives or a relish
holding onto chopped onions and parsley
until I toss their contents into what ever
is on the menu that evening

Each has been chosen for unspoken reasons
for the same reason a potter fashions a bowl
from bits of remaining clay
that one day sits perfectly in the palm of my hand
its yellow painted dots smiling up at me