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The Art Of Stacking Plates

Poetry and prose

I think we all go through our life stacking stuff like plates along our arms like an underpaid waitress. These plates could be people, places, regrets, or good/bad decisions. Some are empty, some are dirty, and some are full of amazing tit-bits and, if we are lucky, a fully-fledged feast. How we sort and balance our crockery will determine how we cope with what the world throws at us. Can we keep all our plates spinning, or will we break them into smithereens? In my writing I try to unstack my plates and serve up their contents through words and images so that in the restacking I’m a better waitress  and that is entirely too much metaphor even for a writer!