Let's look at the broken plate.
It fell from atop the door frame
scraping our children as it fell.
He cried, she didn't understand
the protective eye, the red tail in the
branches of the oak that soaked
an icy day. My hands froze, we had coffee
on a snow day.
It's probably this way because I smashed it once
in anger. I blamed you because talking is
easy, thinking is easy, prejudice is easy, feeling
free is hard, being happy is hard, taking things
hard makes it harder.
It's probably this way because I used the wrong glue.
When I tried to piece it together the face still glowed
recognizably below the new yellow lines.
Yet, I liked it better this way and it
seemed normal for us. What a state for such a bold person--
though she is dead and is broken beyond.
It's probably this way because the materials were not strong enough.
Why use china when non breakable
plates are available? I remember my mother dropping
a bowl on the kitchen floor--she was proud.
It did not break because it was a space-aged invention.
It bounced and roiled
and cried but stood strong to the fall.
My father brooded
and suffered-unbreakable.
Is the figure too bold
a role for such a fragile medium? Why restrain a tiger
with paper lines. It must have exploded from within
coincidentally when it hit the wall, like a great gush
of pressurized steam.
Yes, this is it. I believe in and love this explanation.
Does she have the courage to do it again?
