A Fragment of Pottery

I appreciate this broken bit
of pottery, the simple transfer
pattern, the contours of its clay
and crazed translucent glaze,
more than if it were
still a part of something whole,

the familiarity
of the complete
no longer dulling
my focus.

I like not being sure
whether it was part
of a charger, teapot or bowl,
and knowing
that whatever it was
it has a tale to tell, which I
can now partly fill.

And I am a child again
sitting on the edge
of my crippled
grandfather’s bed.

Tristan Moss

If you have any thoughts on this poem,  Tristan Moss would be pleased to hear them.