top of page

The Vase


Like the vase that sits on the fireplace mantle. 








I am an object of no consequence… until I shatter. 


On the mantle I am whole. 


Empty, yes… but in one piece.  


Thus, I demand no attention. 


So, the years go by... 


and the dust collects. 


All while I sit...


Unmoved and Unmarred...






             ...The day. 


                                ... I break. 


And, when I break, that is when the story comes. 


The tale of where I came from. 


Why I matter. 


The monetary value that I hold. 


When I am undone, all eyes are drawn to my




Bright and beautiful…. 


But also




Scattered and strewn...


All. Across. The Floor. 


And it’s no one’s fault… 


not really. 


I should not have held so still. 


I should not have been so fragile. 


I should have had my fill 


Of time. On the shelf. By then. 


So I contemplate my shambles 


As someone runs to grab the broom.  


And in pieces I remember 


...that I am no longer empty. 


In fragments I see that I am something to someone… 


That my existence has a purpose. 


And, as I am swept into oblivion,


I realize... 


That Broken I am valueless, 





Only Broken do I understand my worth. 

bottom of page