Chinese Porcelain.

Reflected in the mirror behind us
As we set up another selfie,
The collection of earthenware pots
Displayed on the highest shelf
Above the worktop in my kitchen,
Delicate Chinese porcelain
Placed next to Irish stoneware
Rough as the Antrim hills.

And I wonder, as we peer at the photographs
Flashed up on the miniature screen
Held tentatively in your fingers,
That such a roughcast face as mine
Thumbed out of the clays of London
Does not seem an incongruous partner
To the gracefully sculpted contours
Of your refined Parisian beauty.

My smile looks discrete, self effacing,
While yours bursts out of the picture
Like the image of the golden star
Emblazoned on the sacred Oriflamme.
I turn and look up at the porcelain
That once seemed so perfect to me,
And note how the finest of glazes
Can be flecked with miniscule flaws.

Perhaps I should now replace them
With artifacts of your choosing.


Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
October 19th. - 21st. 2015.