Once, the bottle held mead,
sweet drink of celebration,
but now it sits empty, forgotten.
Forgotten by most who tasted its offering,
but not by me.
I kept it,
set it next to the cobalt bottle
that’s the same height,
but not the same shape.
The mead bottle is more elegant,
appearing more elegant still next to the cobalt bottle.
I don’t think it’s really empty.
I pick it up;
it’s heavy with memories of the day.
For a behind-the-scenes look at the making of this poem, visit today’s #31poems post.