The Dishcloth’s Glory – a poem by Valerie Maria Anthony

The Dishcloth's Glory


I admit 
it was only a dishcloth

that had been left, 
scrunched up
on top of a green wheely bin.

Yet the heavy hoar frost
that had come in the night
had decorated it 
with fine shards of ice
that bristled out
into the cold morning light
like a diamond halo.

Or a headdress belonging 
to some lost civilisation,
intended perhaps
for a sacred purpose,
now forgotten. 

There it was
the gorgeous artifact
sparkling wildly
on our unworthy plinth.

My family stood round it, speechless,
but only for a moment,
until uncertainty crept in

and then 
there was a shifting of feet,
a blinking back of beauty
whose gaze they could not meet.

Meteorological facts 
were thrown out
just one or two to break the spell
and allow everyone
to go back into the house
to watch TV
and open Christmas presents.

I stayed however
suffering my joy alone
until the day itself
took 
the dishcloth's glory.

Valerie Maria Anthony is a London and Hampshire-based poet who has published In Oremus Magazine and Amethyst Review. She believes poetry can be an instrument of grace and takes joy seriously enough to look for it everywhere. She has many years of experience facilitating creative writing workshops in social care settings and is a trained visual artist.

2 Comments

  1. mtowers724's avatar mtowers724 says:

    I love this…from the title to the wonderful last few lines.

    The phrase ‘suffering my joy alone’ will stay with me today I’m sure

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Johanna's avatar Johanna says:

    “The Dishcloth’s Glory” is truly glorious! Thank you!

    Liked by 1 person

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