Golden godlets

In early childhood I learned
To beware pretty people born of money
I'd been plunked down on a chunk of rock
Toiling with celebrities, their children, their grandchildren

They taught me they didn't understand need
Let alone want
The words slipped from their rosebud lips
And the thing appeared
Glistening and unmarked

I was an heirloom teacup
Packed and moved a hundred times
Hairline cracks mottling my insides
A chip on my rim
I'd never been filled to the top
Because the money wasn't there to do it

These golden godlets would think I was fun
Pick me up
Roll me from hand to hand
Pretend to make their dolls drink from me
But they would grow tired
I didn't have the bells and whistles of modern toys

And so they would throw me to the ground
Hoping I would break
Little did they know
I'd been enchanted, too
But not like them
There was iron in me
If they'd looked closely
They'd have seen my cracks
were grey and not cream

Frustrated, they would discard me
And a poorer, wiser kid
Would pick me up
To fill me with clear, cold water
Seeing in me what they knew of themselves