Don't Kintsugi Me
I met an old friend last week,
She looked the same and spoke sweet.
I bumped into her again yesterday,
Down my apartment stairway.
I invited her home for coffee right-away,
And she said yes without any delay.
I asked her to be seated comfortably
Until I prepared the best mug of coffee.
I peeped out of the kitchen in-between
And saw her observing the ceiling.
She must've noticed the crooked-crack,
She must’ve thought that I'm a total-wreck.
I presume she has looked all around,
At all the unusual things surrounded -
The broken vase arranged neatly
Amongst other antique vases,
The broken mirror reflecting
A distorted image of the mannequin,
The broken mask of the toy’s face
Revealing a gentle smile underneath,
The broken window in the room
Letting fireflies in for some flight-light,
The broken bowl in the kitchen
Arranged with other painted-porcelains,
The broken hardcover of the diary
Consisting my handwritten poetry.
She looked at me concernedly,
And confronted me compassionately.
The finely-fixed woman insisted heartily
On fixing my things, and me, predominantly.
I generously thanked her for being considerate
And confided in her that I'm fine and in a perfect state.
She borrowed my diary and read my poetry.
She stopped at the poem “Don’t Kintsugi Me”.
She seemed stuck there as she reread those lines -
Dear finely-fixed woman,
And the probable occupant of my heart,
I know that you are a fixer and a healer,
But I'm perfectly fine the way I am.
Please don't try to finesse me your way,
Please don't try to Kintsugi me in a fixed array
Of happy-pretending people living in utter dismay,
For there's uniqueness in broken things
And beauty in imperfections,
For there's poetry in shattered objects
That only the broken heart notices.