Splitting the Assets

The “Mom” coffee cup with a smiley-face sun
and fat apostrophe shaped clouds
sits on this table while the highlighter
screeches across another page.

I once stood holding its edge
with a man at the other end,
saying, do you like it here
or here?

From it a toddler picked first Cheerios
with finger tips like salad tongs.
It later found home where it now serves
as desk in this attic office retreat.

I want to pat it, smooth the cherry wood,
to say I’m sorry I said
I’d cut you in half before I’d lose you
as I ran to the shed for a chainsaw.