This blue china body marks dead 
lobby space. Acrylic cubes protect
silent white polish from all lively 
passersby. Proper men once called me

Vessel of former awe. Maybe 
past life earned prestige’s gaze; from ruler 
and diplomat, from patterned women 
all around. Back then,         joy engulfed
dining halls, crushing us lucky
strangers amongst humming tables. We 

stored sweet refreshment – baijiu, rice 
wines – vibrating within walled stories 
frozen to patina’s gleam: flight of birds, 
pine tree and pagoda, quiet 
cloaks on the bridge. Now,           painted face
and I stare past worth. I remain

chipped at curved lip, base smoothed through
back-then’s pleasant use. Now, I’m worth 
what few glances gather.    Dear Bored
Witness: free me! make slim use of 

my stirring expanse! I cannot 
remain empty-bellied, earning
blank decadence, wasting
small labours and all I’ve ever known.

This piece is part of the Summer 2026 issue.