Atlas

Young handles on a vessel of immaturity

Cared for by the wrinkled intelligence of a grandmother

One young woman educated by the other

Told to care, told to love

I was this vessel: an amalgamation

Of all the world’s influence

Who did not heed the warnings of the experienced

Who cared for me with pursed lips

And loved me regardless

Mischief and influence

Threatened to bring me to ruin

I was careless, intolerant

Poisoned by misgivings, doubt

Broken by sadness

Cracks set in

Wrinkled hands held the handles of the young

Even as their rough and dry skin

Cracked under the pressure

Like a potter she removed the vessel’s tears

Like Atlas she made me the sky

And held me up

One young woman educated by the other

Taught to care, taught to love

The sun rose and the sun set

I saw her struggle and her sadness

Purged the immaturity of my vessel

And filled it with intelligence,

Kindness,  sympathy

And the means by which I could

Pardon her burden with my own strength

No longer condemned to hold up the heavens

She stepped down from her post

I took her wrinkled hands

And encompassed her in the sky’s warmth

The vessel, constructed by-

Rather, broken by sadness falls apart

But a new vessel is born

Full of love for the world