Dinning Room China Cabinet

A Louise Glück Mimic poem from 2018. The fall season is unfortunately where the anniversaries of plenty of loved one's deaths are, so there aren't many bright spots in the folder this poem resides.

Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash

My mother always heeds every six hours
—never, ever, run in the dining room—
As though my grandmother were still alive. Within
the place that is no longer in grandma’s name,
but the house my mother denies being a true gift,
the sound of porcelain against glass settles with disquiet.

My eyes withdraw glances from the gil…