THREE GIFTS FOR MY MOTHER
Sometime in its history the handle found that fate
Did not call it to remain part of a cup, so it left;
The rest of the cup I have now. On it, a pattern
Of brown and yellow small leaves chase one another.
If you look at it closely the onyx cube will show
A building shimmering on a green background
Why this was I didn’t know; the Aztec craftsman
Who surely carved it, must have had his reasons.
I have that too, and the Japanese demon queller.
It worked; no Japanese demons ever came by.
I wonder if they sometimes complain to my mother now
“We travelled so far to see you; why did you quell us?”