Vessel

now shelved, the glossy sheen
of her finish reflects the faces

who gaze upon the fineness of her lines, her comrades,
the broken vessels, recall their

daily use, containing water, wine,
oil, grain

celebrated for their usefulness,
for what would come forth

from the hollow of their beings,
some warmth, some sustenance,

some relief after the beating of
the sun, searing, upon their heads,

sighing, now, the sherds are envious of
their celebrated sister, whispering once,

once, we were, we were, we were, as you