I asked him if he liked my poetry.
He shrugged his shoulders, “yeh, it’s good.”
And, silence, and with that I stood from the table
and like a child
went to our bedroom,
and closed the door.

But not before tripping over my chair
and sending a plate into the air,
until it finally fell and crashed
in a million pieces
on the floor.

And in the bedroom I cursed myself.
for the next time we have company over, sharing dinner,
I no longer have a set.


5 thoughts on “A Shattered Plate

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