"let the water flood out/let the light flood in."
There is a style of pot
made of broken vessels,
the cracks in the ceramic repaired with
Some days you feel shattered.
The veins inside your elbow are fissures
and your heart cracks them wider
with every beat and blow.
The word kintsukuroi sits on your tongue,
but it makes you think of tarnish,
of Midas’s curse and the way
your mother clutches her wallet, thin, threadbare.
You could paint each broken edge of you with gold,
press them together, pray.
You could dig up your hot glue gun from the back of your desk,
find the duct tape under the kitchen sink,
and build, repair, make new.
You think of the way your mother looks at you,
your hollows, your fissures, thin, threadbare.
You want to offer up your bandaged hands,
promise they’re watertight,
and let her fill them from a deep cold well.
But first remember this:
You are a broken heart,
not a shattered vessel.
You do not have to hold things.