Posted on Apr 3, 2020 in Thoughts

beyond repair?

If I got to the floor on my hands and knees I’d see 273 pieces

and that wouldn’t even be all of them

I could find a dust pan and sweep

them together

At least they’d be together

the ones I could recover anyway

Inevitably some would stay lost


to the cavern beneath the fridge, the cracks between the tiles, and to a size unrendered by naked eyes 

Shards would surely be seized by wiry broom bristles

and wanderlust pieces would roam to the living room

where I wouldn’t think to look until days later

when I’d step to pierce flesh

and be reminded of all that had shattered.

But I could try.

I could spread the dusty mosaic across the dining table

and put my plans on hold

to sink into this impossible puzzle

I’d be matchmaker and the superglue my cupid

Edges sharper than anticipated

A torn paper towel wraps my wounded finger and I hold him tightly 

The places you can feel a heart beat

There are fragments in me now

It would never be whole again

and I’d be forever changed

Would it be worth it? My time and my attention. My patience and my bloodshed.

I wonder all this 

as I stand paralyzed

before this mess on my kitchen floor.


poem love borken heart break loss overwhelm grief chaos journal mess

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