Your pink satin holds a
Blush of deep red and
Traces of spring’s pale green.
Your red dress hides
Over flesh of snowy white.
Your inner core holds
Treasures of future trees in
Brown capsules of seeds.
How many fruits have filled this bowl?
How many tomatoes? How many apples
Were peeled into it’s curves?
Golden honey-scented pears?
How many green beans were served
With new potatoes? Sliced sugary peaches?
Ears of yellow corn? Savory vegetable soup?
How many slices of cantaloupe? Blackberries?
I wonder whose bowl it was before it was mine?
Did she use it to mix a cake
Batter for her son’s seventh birthday?
Did she love it like I do?