Katherine Davis

Photo Credit: Prudence Styles/Flickr (CC-by)

So easy, until you found it: the china.
Rosebud-embossed cups and saucers, tiny spoons.
Would the proprietor notice if you swiped (just a few)?
Your plastic bag is capacious. If only the stolen
Would not clink or shatter. Such beauties tend
To be brittle, develop fractures.
Desire makes the sweat run, sets the tongue to twitch.
Your palms need to cool, as in pillows of petals.
O the smoothness, pleasure of silk under fingertips.
The pink is the color of a baby’s cheeks.
You don’t have kids to care for—only things.
You would protect the china as if it came
From your grandmother. Unbelievable, the gift
Which made Sundays in upstate always spring;
Mass shorter; Father’s hands, more delicate.


Katherine Davis earned a Ph.D. specializing in American poetry from Duke University. Her poems have previously appeared in Weber, Stepping Stones, Wild Goose Review, and Convergence. She has written and taught around the United States and currently lives in western Canada. Email: davikath[at]

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