Holes in the heels of my socks were mended
with needle and yarn. The cracked worn sole
of my good shoes was cobbled. The blue bowl
in pieces, was glued, and used as intended
but this rift between friends who were once close,
who talked every day and even wrote letters
read each other's work, wore each other's sweaters
It's like trying to reattach the petals of a rose
This tear won't be repaired
even by tears
Maybe by years.
Love how this poem leads up to the end (and the images)
ReplyDeleteThank you, Charumathi
Deletewore each others sweaters :) Maybe years, Gitanjali, maybe, but these tears/tears that you so gently place next to each other never really go away, do they <3
ReplyDeleteNo they don't. I was trying to work 'kintsugi' into the poem somehow, but that is what it needs, something precious poured into the wound
Delete