tea kettles

these tea kettles
were everything to her,
from Russia, from Spain,
porcelain white and blue
with matching cups
and saucers. they lined
the wide sills of her
windows, in plain view
for anyone to see.
how kind she was
with her cloth and time,
polishing against the curve
of glass making each shine,
so how strange it was to see
them on the street, broken,
lying in pieces with other
things less loved,
the week she died.