weeds: a collection of poetry

shattered but not broken

Shattered But Not Broken

A household vase shattered.
Perhaps by a baseball,
A lover's quarrel,
Or a sibling's brawl.
Glued together and placed back on the fireplace mantel.
Maybe it was a clumsy cat,
Or a vigorous earthquake.
Perhaps the clay had simply given up.

For whatever reason it was broken,
It sat on the edge, ready to be pushed off again.
There it mimicked entirety.
But the shards didn't quite tesalate
And the paint chips fell between the wooden planks of the floorboards,
Never to be seen again.

A once priceless artifact now seemed worthless,
Beyond repair with no purpose.
It could never hold water,
And soil would just be way too much pressure.
But it stayed on the mantel,
Because there's something about this trash that is treasure.

It lingered in the background as he and his father played catch,
It stayed clean and pristine through the lovers' roughest patch.
It was there when they made up and made love and made them, a beautiful set of twins who would one day grow to be men.
Both blotchy and red when birthed,
Reflecting the delicate roses handpainted on its surface.

The vase battled through the hardships of a brotherly flare
When they hit and screamed until they learned how to share.
And when Biscuits was introduced to the bunch,
A boisterous ball of fur,
Not bothered by belongings, maybe a little too much.

And even through a disaster,
The acrylic roses bloomed through with love,
Despite the cracked plaster.

The now reattached ceramic,
Detached from its initial beauty,
Holds a different duty.
It serves as a reminder that broken does not mean useless,
And that life can be ruthless,
But you can always pick yourself up off the fireplace brick,
And there's nothing a little glue can't fix.

And although it can no longer hold a bouquet,
I've always thought flowers were overrated anyway.