Talia

I have walked the halls

Where porcelain is venerated

Displayed beneath marble arches

Spotlit under glass

Raised on a pedestal

Protected by velvet cords

Endless eyes come

To marvel at the beauty

Revel in the craftsmanship

I have walked those halls

There are none here

All we have is ceramic hell

Where bad china goes to die

It is parked out front

The Lady of the Lake

An ancient truck

Well-rusted and festooned

With chips and shards

Of cups and saucers

Plates and pots

A gaudy second skin

Crockery’s Buffalo Bill

Its hood and roof

Are hideous displays

Mockeries of life

Teapots pouring nothing

Into cracked and empty cups

Vases stuffed with abominations

That never knew the earth

The tortured souls

Captured here

Cry out

Weeping and gnashing lids

Its doors and fenders

Are mass graves

The bones and bodies

Of countless pieces

Are desecrated, contorted

Into infernal icons

A pentagram on the driver’s door

Its fiery trail

Scarring the fender

On the passenger’s

The name below all names

The name not spoken

In decent cupboards

Talia, crusher of cups

Talia, punisher of plates

Talia, deflowerer of vases

Talia, polluter of pots

Talia, stainer of steins

Talia, debaser, defiler

And degrader of all dishes

It is she who lurks

Below the bottom rack

Seeking to devour

Those who do not keep

Their place

It is she who haunts

The dreams

Of young dishes

First sleeping on

A shelf

It is she who tips

The server’s hand

And sends

Good workers

To their doom

It is she

Who leaves the element on

She

Who unbalances sturdy shelves

She

Who butters movers’ fingers

She

Who plans Greek weddings

She

Who seeks the wrack and ruin

Of all who serve

The Potter

Talia, the ceramic Satan

Talia, the porcelain Peckols

Talia, the Curse of all the kilned

Talia, the earthenware Erlik

Talia, the potter Pluto

Talia, the Devil of all dishes