Mason Jar

Here's a poem I wrote from last semester where I used an American Sentence to get inspiration for a poem. This isn't a part of the homework, I just wanted to share it.

The Mason jar on the fading table is full of once hot black tea. 

I sit on this chair,

also fading and just as old;

90's green paint, chipped -

bite marks from when I was teething.

Moving my sister's child therapy reports,

internet bills, credit card advertisements,

my father's old grey laptop,

I can see where the polyurethane

is rubbed off.

At the other end,

where my second oldest sister used to sit,

the varnish remains mostly intact;

used now by unsorted mail

and my nephew's soiled clothes

in plastic grocery bags.

I lift up my jar and notice a ring of condensation,

endlessly circling like a small

two dimensional

earth.

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