Friday, September 11, 2015

The Law that Shatters the Pot

There are days when everyone seems to be dying;
others, divorcing. You lay the porcelain pieces together,
but they don't fit, and the fish are fleeing: 
a wriggle and gone. Scales and flakes
are what we have left: a gleam on the ground,
a flash in the water.

Still, you heft a sleepy little one over your shoulder
and carry him up to bed. Asleep before you lay him down,
and the moonlight signing the floor,
sealing a contract you never knew you wrote.
Knowledge of the law is no excuse, they say:
but they have to say something. Deep down
nobody knows the law that moves the moon,
the law that shatters the pot.


Lori Witzel said...

"...moonlight signing the floor..." and the drowsy weight of that sleepy little boy. Might not fix what's shattered, but the tenderness there's a bulwark.

rbarenblat said...

The law that shatters the pot. I feel like a broken pot these days. Trying to focus on kintsugi, but it's a struggle, for sure. Thanks for this.

Dale said...