Perhaps I am going to say this again
because recurrence is natural and
it seems that I have been here before.
Red flowers in white vases might be
a kind of landmark, a kind of punctuation –
a combination that reappears
but makes no specific demands.
Each time there are the same clusters
of petals, lines grooved into porcelain.
In my mother’s house or ours,
we’d take them for granted
and then regret it – these reminders
of what? Some thought about beauty
not being found in the everyday
but being an integral part of it.
