The cup was broken before her hand let go.
Tomorrow, one bright shard will still be found.
Her mother said, Be careful, years ago.
~
Yesterday’s market gave its chipped blue glow,
the kettle sang above the falling sound.
The cup was broken before her hand let go.
~
At seven, she watched the steam rise slow,
her small hands wrapped around new warmth.
Her mother said, Be careful, years ago.
~
The house is sold. The moving boxes grow.
A baby cries where silence used to crowd.
The cup was broken before her hand let go.
~
At forty-three, she sweeps the kitchen slow,
saving what grief has scattered on the ground.
Her mother said, Be careful, years ago.
~
The shelf remembers what it used to know.
Love arrives late, but leaves its meaning loud.
The cup was broken before her hand let go.
Her mother said, Be careful, years ago.
