An old copper jardinière sits in the morning light,
outside a corner antique store.
It called to me,
“I’ve been waiting for you.”
I stopped, intrigued,
lifted it off the table,
surprised by its weight.
“How much?” I asked.
“Make an offer.”
“Fifteen dollars.”
Sold.
Over forty years have passed.
And even though I loved it,
it sometimes sat on a storage shelf
because someone else didn’t like it.
I didn’t yet feel free
to let what I loved be seen.
Today, I finally discovered its secret.
Hammered in a small shop in Tiel, the Netherlands,
created during the Egyptology craze
after the discovery of Tutankhamun’s tomb.
Now it has fully returned to me.
Its value is in belonging,
not in displaying alone,
without its function.
I replaced the plant inside the copper jardinière.
And suddenly, everything felt right.
The antique restored to its purpose.
The plant had returned to its vessel.
I had returned to myself –
to the artist,
the researcher,
the plant lover,
the daughter of a man who shaped metal,
the mother who loves her sons,
the woman who now displays beauty openly.
Beautiful writing, as usual! I love the deep meaning. Miss you.
Thank you, Connie. I cried a lot over the days spent writing it.