Inheriting My Grandmother's China

I unwind from a plate
yellowed newspaper from late February
and gaze into the dusty white surface
like looking through a photo album,
reminiscing,
as my grandmother's china becomes mine.

I gently lift from the crate
dinners at Easter
gatherings in late November, and
a family of memories embracing these dishes.

Together,
we stood at your sink after Thanksgiving
in your pale blue kitchen
with stars in the counter top
and a sequined calendar hanging on the wall.

Alone,
my sink full of hot bubbles,
I wash away the dust of time
from dishes which waited for my home,
gently massaging the silver-rimmed surface
with my tattered cloth.

One by one, I wash each dish,
a cup,
a saucer,
plate,
bowl,
drying,
and storing away,
my cabinets now full
of memories
of you.

(First published in Welcome Home, vol. 15, No. 7; July 1998)