It stands there
on the wooden cabinet top
the only object
in my study
truly black
round rimmed
a slightly narrowed neck
the shoulders gently sloping
judging by the glaze
it could be Japanese but no
the potter was from somewhere
on the California coast

My mother bought it
in the town of Mendocino
where I'd brought her
from the San Francisco airport
driving in the dark through miles
of fog and redwood forest
following the yellow reflectors
a bit like Dorothy's
yellow brick road
until somewhere near Albion
we reached the ocean
then drove north along the narrow
winding highway
'till at last we found the comfort
of a Bed and Breakfast

In the morning woke
to sunshine pouring
in the window and outside
a fabulous blue ocean
and my mother's smiling face
this was the only trip
we'd ever taken
just the two of us
and so I guard the memory
as something precious
it will be ten years
this fall since she moved on
and the black vase
that she gifted me
stands empty now
without its flowers
but I'll put roses in it
come the spring
pink roses from our garden
once they're back in bloom

on
a dot of white
reflection of the ceiling lamp