A Broken Mug

Breaking the mug
left behind when a friend moved
and left me their favorite mug

in order
to practice unattachment and 
travel light

hurt. I was attached to the person
but soon enough more so to the mug
I drank coffee from every day all day

for close to eight years
till Tuesday or maybe Monday,
who knows now, it’s been a fog

of worry since then about
this loss and feeling I have failed
a friendship, although we haven’t

spoken much over the years since
he moved. I’m sure there’s
more to say about this — when

have I ever had less to say
about such foolishness? My hand’s 
rotten nerves let go when I could

not. I swept up the pieces at once
and they’re gone now
with this week’s trash. No one got 

hurt. I trust he’s doing ok regardless.
I have a new daily mug
I don’t like as much, but I’ll adapt,

I’m sure. I will drink a lot of coffee
from this until such time
as I break it, then repeat

with another mug or myself
and then we shall see what hurts,
if anything, when the last one is gone.