Poetry

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It broke.
Again.
Shattered in a million pieces on the floor.
Seems like I had just put it back together.
I stood over it, weeping.
I wasn’t sure I had the energy for another repair.
It was so hard to get all those pieces to fit together.
Was it even worth it?
I wasn’t sure.
I stood there,
overwhelmed,
crying.
I was so tired,
and scared.
Trying to fix it again seemed like too much.
I wrung my hands.
I wept.
I wished someone else would do this for me.
Just then a man approached.
He stood next to me.
He looked from the broken pieces to my tear-stained face.
“Do you want me to fix it?” was all he asked.
“Yes.” I managed to choke out,
surrendering to the offer.
He picked up the pieces,
cutting himself in the process,
but he did not complain.
With gentle yet sturdy hands, and much care,
he began restoring it.
The white adhesive I had used in the past
always left an ugly residue.
I noticed his red one dried clean.
After a few minutes,
he held out his completed work to me.
I realized there was a hole in it.
I wondered how he could have missed it.
He seemed so thorough and capable.
I asked about the missing piece.
“You don’t need that part any more,” was his reply.
My response was not that of the reassured.
“What do you mean? There’s a big gap -
right there in the middle,” I argued,
“an emptiness."
“Do you want me to fill it?” he asked.
I glanced around.
What about the other piece?
How was he sure I didn’t need it?
Could I trust him with this repair?
My searching eyes fell on his face.
His eyes provided the answer as he asked again, softly,
“Do you want me to fill it?”
“Yes…please.”
He reached out and,
covering the hole with a hand,
he filled it with his own peace.
The transformation was miraculous.
Not only was it repaired,
it no longer showed cracks from previous breaks.
In fact, it looked completely new.
I was amazed.
But then I noticed
something else.
The shape did not seem
quite right.
There were bumps where I thought it should be smooth.
A curve here and there did not arc as I expected.
With confusion,
near dismay,
I asked why this was.
It had seemed to be remade,
but I still saw imperfections.
“Yes,” he explained.
“This new creation is now as it should be…
not perfect, but whole.”

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