The Broken Bowl: A Poem

The broken bowl

lies on the floor

stunned, shocked

in tiny glass pieces

reflecting the kitchen lights

in a sad attempt at a rainbow.

A drop of water, like a tiny tear,

falls from the corner of one shard

falls the tiny distance

to the dusty hardwood floor.

The pieces are quickly swept up

and more tears, real ones,

join the other on the floor.

Then, crimson tears

flow from her

worn-down old thumb

painting the sink pink

as she washes away

the pain and the memory.

Everything is silent now

the screaming has stopped

but the tears continue

to stain her beautifully sad face.

Washing away the makeup

the fake smile

that had been there.

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