Wednesday, May 10, 2017

Holes

A broken heart will heal.
It will.
I am living proof.
Walking around with a chest full
Of shattered coronary pottery
Pieced together
Resealed with gold
The way the Japanese do pottery.
A missing piece in mine though
A hole
A piece I had out on loan.
To keep her safe when she flew
A piece of my clay pot
That belonged to her anyway.
That she carried with her.
The way everyone carries something
This one will not heal.
It can't.
There is no other exact fit
For that one little piece
That we chiseled out together.
She took a turn
And I took a turn and I took a turn.
And she took the last as someone has to.

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