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
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
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