Posts Tagged ‘fragile’

December 17, 2022

Mom makes the chocolates
while I chop nuts and make dough—
we listen to carols and sing along
as we have since before I remember.
The kitchen smells of mint and sugar
and I try to press the memory
between the pages of the day.
Perhaps it is a blessing
to know how fragile it is, this life.
I let myself fall all the way into the moment,
the sun long gone, but the house
still pulsing with love, still warm.

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Post Script




Fragile, said the stamp

in dark black ink imprinted

on the cardboard box.

The bottom of the F

was not quite dark enough

to read, but there was no mistaking

the message. Things break.


All day, I imagine

the word invisibly stamped

on everything I see. Fragile

on the aspen trees and Fragile

on the chopping board and Fragile

on my daughter and the woman

I sit next to in the pool.


The red-tailed hawk. The cantaloupe.

The plastic bag. The lawn.


In the mirror, I see the word

in all caps on my cheeks. I remember

that afternoon in the car when

I wept and told my friend that I was breaking.

Open, she said, not down.


There is no shame in breaking.

Still, this chance to treat the world

with tenderness, as if the day

itself relies on how we hold it.











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