Jeanne Bryner, RN, BA, CEN
 
SAUCER
 
The blind cat drinks from me.
 
I am a circle inside another circle.
 
Where the stone hit I was born
 
and there will I also die
 
but not before making a little
 
clacking noise with my sister
 
and taking some heat. Someone
 
has to catch hell, small milky spills,
 
sweet brown drips.
 
It might as well be me
 
sitting quietly bearing coals
 
across my back.
 
I am what holds the brewed cup,
 
beauty to be broken, sighed over,
 
swept up and thrown away.