Teacup

Teacup

Yong Wan Choi 08.30.12

At the fingertips of a potter seasoned by a lifetime
a handful of chosen clay, kneaded and shaped into a bond

wound on the potter's wheel spinning round and round
it tasted the dizzy world for the first time

at the tip of a brush wet with first love
the flower colors of heaven's four seasons painted in
the red sun, a blazing, seething fire

a ripened heart, a body fired hard
a lovely life without flaw or blemish

boiling clear water that stirs the scent of leaves
when thumb and index finger gently take hold
one sip, savored with eyes softly closed

touching the lips, blushing
a friend grown dear through the talk we share
the handprints of those who smiled and wept
a lifetime's breath wound up in a single moment

the flow of the seasons brimming over the cup
a diary that nearly broke and was buried in the earth
a splendid teacup on a junk shop shelf