Tuesday, March 22, 2011

Out of my broken jar I spill
I slosh, I puddle, stain
Those near me holy pity
chirp nodding glaring shame

Across the isle
the sisters see
a simple vessel
passed to me

Catching fall
collecting these
sacred slippings
preciously

The girls there
on the other side
we differ candidly
but those from my roots
say a prayer and
walk away from me