I am piecing this shell together, of broken thoughts and
dislocated spirit. One at a time, I bring each piece together
but see that there is no glue that can fix these pieces without
an obvious seam.
This here, is supposed to be a hard muscular organ, with four
chambers. It is paper thin now, and the walls flutter with an
anxious fibrillation of dread, and muted rhythms that tell tales
of another time, and another life.
I think I need to bring a piece of smile and staple it to this side
of my face. It doesn’t really matter if the eyes don’t smile. Just
so that there is some semblance to the skeletal shell of my being.
No matter I live in the lap of this earth, I will return to it, with patches
of mended efforts, of half a smile, of the slow drum beat of paper thin
chambers of the heart–
and the broken bones and the bruises
will come together, each in their own fashion, and be recognized
by The Potter once again.
©ZSA June 2015.