Tuesday, April 2, 2013

Broken Glass. March 29 2013

My mother collected pretty things
Jewelry, Plates, villages of wood
Holiday things and cat things
She liked to surround herself with
memories and beauty

Many times I felt like
I did not belong among
the collections
I wasn't a pretty thing
to be treasured and displayed

Rather I was a reminder
of things that went wrong,
things she didn't want to recall

today I am packing to move
to a home that is all mine,
never shared with my past
I am excited, I am packing
the few pretty things I have

Suddenly, a goblet shattered
the play of emotions in my breast
the sadness, the initial panic
the feeling that my mother
would be disappointed in me yet again

I felt like a child
I broke love
and made my mother
find yet another reason
to turn away from

the one thing in her life
that wasn't a displayable
object of beauty.

Me, I am a broken glass, and I need the glue of love.

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