Tuesday, October 23, 2007

broken

“The jewelery box lid is broken.”
“I can fix it,” I told her, years ago.
I can fix it. I just haven’t done so.

The top of the box is a painting
of Boston Common on a snowy day
in another time, people walking
across the park at twilight.

The four pieces that framed it
lie on top of the dresser, waiting
to be remembered into wholeness.

I walk by every morning without
the glue or the intention to fix
what is broken. Now I have gone
so long that broken seems normal.

How did I become accustomed
to a life of unfinished and disrepair?
I can fix it; I just haven’t done so.

Peace,
Milton

*This is a response to the Poetry Party at Abbey of the Arts.

9 comments:

Songbird said...

That is really beautiful.

Karina said...

I like this a lot. It's simple, but powerful.

Magdalene6127 said...

beautiful; painful

Brett said...

Well done poem. Good stuff.

tumblewords said...

waiting
to be remembered into wholeness

a beautiful sentiment - a lovely poem with just a touch of melancholy...

Abbey of the Arts said...

another beautiful contribution Milton, I always look forward to your thoughtfulness and depth.

Nancy said...

What a beautiful poem. The last stanza really hit home.

How did I become accustomed
to a life of unfinished and disrepair?
I can fix it; I just haven’t done so.

Fixing things can get to be a wearisome job. Seems like one thing gets fixed and another is broken waiting for repair. We must persevere.

Real Live Preacher said...

Yeah, very nice. In my own life i have these things that I just don't do. And the longer I don't do them the less likely it is that they will get done. What's one more day after 425 days?

Diane said...

so wonderful. I'm a little jealous of you, Milton. a confession.
No, you are a wonderful writer.