Cobalt
On the quartz countertop that sparkles when the
sun glances at it, sits my substantial blue mug
I am endeared too. It is cobalt and it
harkens me. He’s hefty with thick white speckles,
almost like glitter. Before my eyelids fully lift, he
whispers to me and no other mug will suffice.
He is dependable, always on the shelf. Serving m
every morning when shadows dissipate. I place dry
lips on his smooth rim and breathe in the thick aroma
of south America’s harvest. One purpose, one mission,
to offer a drink. He is filled and fulfilled. He holds and
is held.