Portrait of the Woman Who Cared
You’re careful with our fragile shards.
Your mental buffet rising high,
full of all the china parts of us
we trust you with.
Red and blue flowers blooming
against white kaolin bowls
and silver metal spoons
glittering with the fire of emotions
we keep hidden inside ourselves.
You keep our fragile parts
inside your brain,
no one else allowed to touch them
Your wooden doors creak open
whenever you need to store our fragile shards away,
refer back to them later
when you need to.
You’ll notice we’re either
blossoming or burning
and you take either one
with open hands.
Open your drawers,
Have a seat!
Make yourself comfortable.”
We’ll sit on the nearby couch
as you sift through our brains,
asking all the right questions,
looking for our shards
to carry on your back.
To add to your wooden buffet
that creaks every time you move a door
it’s that old.
Passed down to you from your mother,
your caring nature never ceases
to be the fire in our darkness.
The flowers on our doorstep
when we weren’t expecting any,
holding a little note within its pedals
that says “keep going,
I believe in you.”
You’ll sit and listen to every story
behind every broken glass bottle,
every empty bowl,
every fragile shard.
You’ll take them in like a vacuum
sucking every little particle of dust
until there is nothing left anymore.
Until the laughs have been let out
like wild beasts in the night.
Until the tears have streamed
like the rivers you pass
on your way to work.
Until the smiles have shown so bright
the lightbulbs need changing
due to overexposure.
When all that needs to be said
has been thrown into your universe,
you carefully pick up each shard,
place it carefully inside a section
of your wooden buffet,
and say “thank you for trusting me.”
We’ll reply back “thank you for listening.”