Of Yesteryear

The illicit happiness of broken china

Felt the air

And grew a liking to

The craft of hearing heartbeats.

On such a day,

I looked God in the good eye-

The unbreakable one-

And knew at once he’d scold me

For bearing Eve’s treachery

In my dancing hips

And the hissing of the snake in my veins.

God is a soul-catcher

Of porcelain,

Ceaselessly searching for the missing pieces,

Deluding himself into hoping

Original feel and look are to be matched

In harmony.

I won’t glue into submission.

Still, how he values

His cherished vessel of honor

Beyond worth,

In every imperfect crack pulsating with aliveness,

Yet far from allegiance.


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