Poetry

Kintsugi

You saw me cracked,
a soft-colored thing,
thin walls.
You sought to spackle my wounds
with fool’s gold,
covering the holes
with weak beauty,
without substance.

You made quickly
with your cheap labor,
coating over spaces
but not filling between,
and your gold looked good
for Everyone.
Maintenance
wasn’t
what
you
signed up for.

I was working
to melt down the karats
of stronger brilliance
when you took the flame
from my hands
to make sure the work was done
to Your liking.

Your gold proved brittle,
and I let it flake away
as I take back my crucible
and hold it beneath steady flame.