I threw my life on the ground and watched it shatter.

In a single moment everything, everything that I knew changed.

I raged, wept and futilely tried to put the pieces together.

 

I do not remember the moment I realized that my hands where cut and my blood dulled the once bright edges.

I put the shards down and backed away.

From a distance I could see the irrevocable change

But my hands still reached out.

Sheer force of will and the desire to heal stayed them time and time again.

 

Now a few scares stretch as my hands move once more towards the pieces.

Instead of seeking to replicate what once was, they nimbly dust and wash each;

Looking for the qualities that only it contains: a color, a shape or curvature.

Carefully I lay them out in the mud of this new life.

 

I am unsure how one piece will sit next to another: if the edges will combine to please the eye,

If the colors still compliment in this erratic new state.

But as each piece finds its place I see the whole better, I trust the wisdom of my hands.

It is not the piece I set out to make, not in its function or form

But it is stronger and more beautiful for the breaking.

AC 2012