Shards in my pocket
(an excerpt from my diary 12 months ago)
Last night I broke my favourite plate.
From the eye of my rage filled storm.
I let it fly
It was the full stop to my frustration
A shattered relief
1920′ porcelain struck against his grandfather’s table.
As I swept up the hand painted fragment karma looked at me
so she did not see my smile,
It was so easy,
I carry the shards in my pocket
That high above the fog
A blue sky is waiting