An old ironstone marmalade jar
holds felt tipped pens
that skate across paper
to lay down good black ink
little resistance except
the hesitations of my thoughts
Her small silver letter opener
the tip slightly blunted
from drops into the pen jar
its repousse handle testament
to a love of the ornate
like jade it carries her history
That bright orange bootlace
worn when driving
to keep the heavy car fob close
and the Triple A truck away
a jury-rigged aide memoire
not quite welcome
The blue and white egg cup
on a bathroom shelf
holds simple baking soda
and an old silver salt spoon
its handle finger tarnished
refugees from formality
This gently swirled glass lamp
heavy base and black shade
turned on every morning
as the dogs nose me to the door
coolness under my palm
to greet its past and a new day
Life With Horace 