On the wall for forty years,
a copy of some famous painting.
Almost everything a strange dark
shade of blue, a blue not quite
blue, the merest hint of green:
antique cupboard, curved table
base, ladder back chair, window
frame, even the tree outside.
The only exceptions:
white table cloth,
newspaper in the lady’s hands,
her pale pink floral dress with tiny
darker pink flowers,
large copper antique teapot
in the cupboard, the black and copper
pots on top. Her teacup, saucer, plate
of toast, white and blue, an old Danish pattern.
I’ve kept this gift,
hung on too many walls to count.
My college roommate, the giver, said,
“This reminds me of you.”
I look at it; all these years
have wondered why.
We’re still friends.
I’ve never asked.
