The Shattered Vase

You collected wild flowers,

rested them on my head like a crown;

I was your queen.

The rest, you rearranged over my heart --

the meeting place

of bees, lovers and butterflies.

We were the envy of strangers.

Like a Monet, distance was our ally.

They glanced at us,

they wanted to look closer but

we kept moving

further and further away from them

because that was how we were meant to be seen.

You see that glamorous frame?

It is nothing but cardboard.

And the picture

you believed is a masterful work of art

is just a million puzzle pieces --

a million puzzle pieces that don’t fit together,

glued together.

I used to talk for hours without saying anything.

I spoke of nothing because you did not hear me. 

With every word left unheard,

every little piece mislaid and ground to ash

and the lies arbitrarily falling into the cracks

of the broken vase,
there was nothing left to restore.

The flowers had wilted. The crown had fallen.

But you saw what they wanted to see.

You asked me to hold it together one more time.

Were these words of wisdom or folly?

I knew these pieces did not fit together.

And one cannot put together shattered glass

and call it a vase again. 

© 2012 Helena Malheur