Porcelain

The day I fell apart–literally.

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I am held in her hands–

Soft, leathery, gentle hands.

She brings me from my shelf,

Humming Ella Fitzgerald.

My dress is still pristine,

Though I stayed there much too long.

My hair is golden ringlets;

My face still holds a smile.

She takes me down the stairs,

Where the air is cold and crisp.

She polishes my face

With most careful precision.

Suddenly it began,

And suddenly does it end.

She takes me in her arms,

And my journey continues.

There is a loose tile

At the edge of the kitchen.

She slips and then she falls,

Landing on her hands and knees.

I’m thrown into the air,

Soaring above her grey head.

If I could scream I would;

I come crashing to the ground.

Glass collides with tile,

And my body is broken.

I lie there, still in shock,

Feeling nothing but the pain.

She cries, and I would too;

My pieces are everywhere.

Shavings of porcelain,

Two painted glass eyes, both blue.

My smile is chipping;

My arms are at odd angles.

I am broken and lost

In a sea of my being.

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