Gabby's Poetry Corner

The Blue Cup
by Minnie Bruce Pratt


Through binoculars the spiral nebula was

a smudged white thumbprint on the night sky.

Stories said it was a mark left by the hand

of Night, that old she, easily weaving

the universe out of milky strings of chaos.



Beatrice found creation more difficult.

Tonight what she had was greasy water

whirling in the bottom of her sink, revolution,

and one clean cup.

She set the blue cup

down on the table, spooned instant coffee, poured

boiling water, a thread of sweetened milk. Before

she went back to work, she drank the galaxy that spun

small and cautious between her chapped cupped hands.