Talavera
As if spilled milk glazed over native sands
hard-fired but not unbreakable –
my dog pads over porcelain no longer
ornamental, fragments of
tiles delicate blue on white, sky painted on
cloud, the world topsy-turvy
with shattered walls. Rhythmic breathing
of my dog inhaling scent
that rises through cracks from tiny cells
of space, how far beneath
what had been
corridor and room – bronchioli, alveoli
compressed as if a giant stamped
across this portion of
city, leaving fragments of lintel-rebar-bone.
But look. Someone
has set aside one tile unbroken –
as if to neaten, no,
as token of a chance to raise one
living from the dead.
~ Taylor Graham
from Uplift (www.coldriverpress.org)