Love letter from the kettle to the travel mug

by Shannon J. Curtin

As a useful vessel
I am always giving, giving, giving.
Warming, steaming, boiling over with a lust
I will never quench.

Instead I exist just to fill every offered void,
then watch as they leave the room
in a perfume of aromas
I will never taste.

I have envied others throughout my days-
delicate china, glazed stoneware, ceramic;
I’ve partnered many times, but you
you my love, surpass them all.

I long to follow your vapor trail.
You explore worlds I only dream of.
You are allowed to live in the landscapes
the calendar page teases, while I
can only stare endlessly at the same wall.

Yet, you have no hint of arrogance
content to sit, hat off and still
amongst the cups and lids and mugs.
Your sheen makes me ache to shine.

Dear love, you remind me how
to be of use, to be contented
with my part in life.

Standing tall and statuesque,
durable and duty driven,
stainless daily traveler,
you are my favorite void to fill.

after “A love letter from the toothbrush to the bicycle tire,” by Sarah Kaye

Shannon J. Curtin is a 2014 Pushcart Prize nominee and the author of two collections of poetry, Motherland (forthcoming from Anchor & Plume Press), and File Cabinet Heart (ELJ Publications, 2014). Her poetry has been featured in a variety of literary magazines including Short, Fast, and Deadly, The Muddy River Review, Vox Poetica, and The Camel Saloon. She holds an MBA, competitive shooting records, and her liquor. She would probably like you.