September 1, 2019

Fragments, slivers, shards—tiny pieces holding cracks together.

Last night when the vase that had traveled with you from New Mexico

hit the floor I held my breath.

And a lost breath is just this.

You placed the small green vessel back on the shelf

and went about your business.

I stood, longer, looking at the place it had landed,

wondered if there’d be a soft spot waiting for me when I fell?

The shelf is over-crowded;

a reminder of the way I live.

I say I want to thin out, simplify.

I want this.

Then I look at small reminders ~ of what?

Other times, other people?

Precious things of worth? Is this a thing in itself?

xo