Love of the Old
When I was doing the washing up
it struck me that my wife retained
an affection for plates with faded
designs from thirty-five years ago,
a plastic spoon worn half away
from stirring sauces in hot pans,
a carving knife with a broken handle.
I found it touching she displayed
an attachment to familiar objects,
that had seen far better days
and could reasonably be discarded.
And then, of course, there’s me...
Tony Dawson, March 2024