Cracked China

Jane Downing

My 85 year old mother has three cracked bread & butter plates

she keeps at the top of the pile of the set of eight

meaning they are used most often because if a plate is going to break

she wants it to be one of them

the plates are special Noritake bought by my father in Hong Kong

in the 1950s when he was in the Navy and told a goodtime girl

he wasn’t interested because he had a fiancé at home

so she sat with him while his mates took up the offer of her friends

These cracked plates aren’t even from the set he chose for her

his fiancé my 85 year old mum – a design of austere blue elegance

which is still in the good sideboard for special occasions – rather

these cracked day-to-day plates are more prosaically patterned pink

roses he picked for his own mother which the family inherited

when she died on the toilet aged 79

not that there’s any competition in life span going on

When I wipe up I sift the cracked plates shift them to the bottom

of the pile so they will remain warehoused in the kitchen cupboard

because there is no reason to put up with second-best at this age

and the toothy chips are just a reminder of hard times

the chalky innards of the fine Japanese porcelain revealed

and the browning hairline fractures are unsightly when we seek

flawlessness readily available in all five other side plates

their edges moon smooth their rims intacta

But between visits my 85 year old mother winnows the three

chipped plates to the top of the pile and they re-enter daily usage

avocado toast a joke on one and curried egg and lettuce sandwich
on another and bread & butter pudding on the bread & butter

plate a dream for the third

none of which ever break as we set the table or pile them in the sink

so we daren’t take the last step and throw them out

not until they are finally asunder in two pieces because what then

will the world do to us with our timeworn imperfections?