She’s a glass figurine,
walking through life crazed;
tiny fractures seem solid
when viewed at distance
Repeated concussions,
given by careless hands,
tissue trauma, her wrapper;
chips sparkle as if diamonds
Across the room, she is brilliant.
Dusky bisque with just a hint
of ancient blood ‘neath her cheeks;
memories of free-falling
reflected in a momentary blush
Indifferent, like a razor on silk.
The string of broken hearts,
broken lives, broken dreams,
scattered shards on marble;
history repeating, sharp legacy
Broom and dustpan, drooping,
clean up on aisle seven,
abandoned, she abandons;
sitting sideways on a dusty shelf
Pristine but for the cracks.