Self-Portrait as Overpriced Purple Vase from Bay View Street in Camden, Maine

I don’t even know whether to pronounce
myself vase like ace or vahz.
Should have come with care instructions.
So fragile, so much wide-mouthed
yearning to be bud vase, mason jar,
Grecian urn. I am aubergine, brackish,
cobalt. I change with the light. Where
feet should be I have a see-through moon.
Water tickles me no end. I thrill to stem
pokes, stray sepals, fallen petals
bright as stars against my midnight belly.
I was almost a bell. I was almost
made of iron. I was almost useful, but
I had to be so precious. Put away
for decades. Maine shed, LA closet. Now
I’m out and shining. Touch my cool assumed
perfection. Careful. Feed me flowers.

---

---

Sherry Abaldo lives with her husband in Las Vegas, Nevada. Her writing has appeared in The New York Times, ONE ART (Top 10 Read July 2024), Rattle, The Eunoia Review, Down East Magazine, and on The History Channel and PBS among other outlets. Her poems are forthcoming in Sequestrum, The Mackinaw, and elsewhere. As a researcher, her latest nonfiction contribution is due from HarperCollins in 2025. More at sherryabaldo.com.