After All, They’re Only Things by Rose Mary Boehm

I always passed that shop window
on my way to work—
my first job as a married mother of two.

Earthenware at its finest:
a decorative bowl with pulled-up edges,
a carafe with a round belly, an abstract
design covering their surfaces.
Slick.
Painted in a fat yellow,
a summer sky blue,
a bright but gentle red,
and some almost black lines
offsetting the colour fest.

This boldness would be perfect
in the reception area in our house,
a focal point of exuberance and joy,
perfect for the middle of that old round mahogany
table with the loose leg given to me by a friend
in the old days, at a time when I had not even a bed
in my new flat.

With my first paycheck I finally bought
the coveted items from the knick-knack shop,
and delighted at the perfect match.

I am not sure what it was that produced
his ire. But one day soon after showing
my pleasure—during a somewhat heated
argument—he looked into my eyes,
no, not a cold stare,
more a look of deep satisfaction,
then he took both bowl and jug into his hands,
holding them aloft over the hard-wood floor,
the knuckles white.
Then he opened his big hands.
Slowly.



Rose Mary Boehm is a German-born British national living and writing in Lima, Peru, and author of two novels as well as eight poetry collections. Her poetry has been published widely in mostly US poetry reviews (online and print). She was several times nominated for a ‘Pushcart’ and ‘Best of Net’. Her eighth book, LIFE STUFF, has been published by Kelsay Books (November 2023). A new MS is in the works. https://www.rose-mary-boehm-poet.com/