Dust on a Mug

The day I recognized you were not coming back,

I stood in the kitchen a little longer. 

The dust on your overturned teacup

Caught my eye within the tidy kitchen. 

I will attend to that after I recall 

The last time you were really here. 

When?

I held my mug and 

I took down the photos and post-its.

The ones on which you replied with phrases of loyalty 

And our alliance 

In a time that was more simple because you were here. 

Our situation grew out of confidence to face the world. 

Confidence. Facing the world. Filling a space. 

It was you who broke the silence

In a sterile cafe saying,  

“What do you see as the end to this?

For us, our plans aren’t the same” 

I should have reiterated but 

Instead I said,

“Plans are for God. Journeys are for us. 

I don’t think about the end of anything, 

But if I did, 

I would not think you were an end...”

It’s a peaceful process, wiping the dust from a cup 

And returning it to a cabinet,

Filling a space 

For never again.  

We only have tea between us now,  

And eventually the pot finishes. 

I filled the kettle because

I don’t focus on finishes. 

And I’ll still let God focus on plans. 

KRiley April 2025