It slipped from wet
dish soapy fingers
and proved Newton's apple true
as it fell
and smashed into
shards of white porcelain
on a breadcrumb sprinkled floor.
tears raced to join them
a flood of anxiety
shaken like a champagne bottle
finally uncorked
The salt and the ceramic
swirled together
in a defeated dance
choreographed with a sigh.
They fell together
into the dust bin.
The whole moment - trashed.
It wasn't just a broken plate
It was one more thing
that was hers to deal with
alone.
About the Creator
Ellie Hoovs
Breathing life into the lost and broken. Writes to mend what fire couldn't destroy. Poetry stitched from ashes, longing, and stubborn hope.
My Poetry Collection DEMORTALIZING is out now!!!: https://a.co/d/5fqwmEb
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Comments (2)
My mam created and shouted, if I broke cups plates etc. I wowed my children and grand children, never went through that. I just say when they look all apologetic, Hey it’s only a cup etc. The calmed instant look the give me says it all l9l ⭐️⭐️⭐️
I used to feel very scary when I broke a plate or cup. 😢😀