Crystal dishes are stacked at Goodwill, buried deep
in bundles of baskets and faded tupperware.
Once these held pink and green mints, salted nuts,
crackers and cheese carefully carried
by smiling women in girdles and smooth taffeta,
lean men in dark suits.
My parents dreamed of big things: clean children—
boats near a summer house--an exciting future in space.
Now I hold up one plate to finger the sharp design
and rainbows fly out into the hands of a small boy nearby.
“Mira,” he says. Look. Look.
We carry the blessings of fractured light into our rumpled, quilted world.