The sixth plate,
The empty seat on the dining table,
The toothbrush, the belt, the sweater,
All still in place.
I do not possess the courage to move you,
To face you yet,
As soon as my skin touches your surface,
You may shatter into pieces.

The sixth plate,
The sixth glass,
You are part of the set
Yet you are alone,
Unwillingly alone.
You belong in the cupboard,
I refuse to face you yet.

The sixth plate,
You are still in place,
Dust settles upon you,
Maybe you are more durable than I suspected,
Because
You lay under the clay,
The clay you were made off,
Leaving the sixth plate.

-Maheen Elahi

Note: The idea for this poem came to me when I was taking out plates before dinner and I realized that all the crockery we owned were in sets of six. Because prior to my fathers death, we were in fact six family members. So the first stanza discusses denial and the second discusses the processes of coming into terms with the grief. And finally, the last stanza discusses how you cope with the circumstances you are in. The whole point of this note is to give you a rough idea of my thought processes when I committed pen to paper but the rest is open for interpretation. Please let me know how you perceived this poem when you read it!