White Bowl
Dear Old friend,
I was told not to bother with the white bowl.
It was precious and clean.
I am not sure how-
how I reached it, but I was happy when I got it off the shelf
My favorite bowl
You were innocent
And pure
The most beautiful thing, truly
Something sitting at an auction sold for a price far below your true quality
I just wanted you to never be broken
I wanted to protect you, in my possession
But I failed
I put you where you weren’t supposed to go
I expected more from you than you could handle
I was unrealistic
You shattered
When you hit the floor
Your form was destroyed
Worst of all, I couldn’t figure out why
Why I had let go of the bowl
Why when fear shook me through and through did I not think to grab hold tighter?
Why did I release my grip and let you fall, and shatter, and break into millions of pieces?
Now I stand here, wishing I had left you on the shelf and admired you from a distance
I wish I had respected your beauty
I wish I could try again
But now, now it is time for me to pray
I pray that I will have the strength to pick up your pieces
I pray I have the strength to fight the urge to try and nurse you back together
I pray that I can accept the fact that I, the one who broke you, cannot fix you-
It is not my skill
I call on every higher power and hope that one will answer
I ask them to please put in me, the will and knowledge needed to know that it is time to pass you off to someone who can fix you
Someone who will know every crack and crevice
Who will know which piece fits where
And knows where to put less pressure so that your process of recovery is smooth.
Now all I do is wait
I wait here
Next to the broom and dustpan
I wait here
looking at the shelf
I wait here
With you in my hands, palms cupped tightly, letting your jagged edges pierce my skin-
Just so I can try to experience your pain
I wait here,
shaking from the fear, contemplating, and knowing that you won’t survive another fall from me
I look up once more. And
I pray... Please give me the strength
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