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?