I really liked that mug.

Mug

by Amy

I broke my favorite mug this morning,
I knew this would happen.

I was on my way to the kitchen, carrying some dishes
I had her balancing inside of another,
the other was unfit.
He was typical and blue,
with grooves along the top
making tension, making mountains
when the rest of him was smooth.

She was green to a fault
with aching moldy-looking spots
constellations gone unsettled,
aneurysms from a stopped heart.

My mug had brown blood,
every vessel sprang from clay and
pumped through a shaking base,
I knew that she’d break.