Blue Bowl

Blue Bowl

I remember how I loved new bread,
The smell of butter in the crust.
There was a bowl of blue I had
For summer days.
Sometimes at sunset I sat on the back steps
And held the bowl balanced upon my knees,
And dipped as a dreamer does
The rounded spoon into the white milk,
Lifting the little islands of the bread.
The honeysuckle and the phlox
Were sweet upon the air,
And fireflies lifted uncertain stars
Into the night.
I wonder why this memory lingers so -
The bowl was broken years ago.