There's a technique in Japanese ceramics,

where a shattered object

is glued together with gold.

In other cultures, other communities,

they would pick up the large pieces,

careful not to cause any cuts, any more harm.

They would take an empty trash bag, place

the pieces in.

Then, grab a broom, sweep up the crumbs.

Brush their hands off when they're done.

The bag would be tied up,

left outside until the garbage came on

Tuesday.

But not this time. Not with me.

I was shattered, left to fly away with the wind.

I'd been destroyed, most of myself sturdy and

strong,

but no longer together, cracked and

dismayed,

a vase thrown against a brick wall.

But slowly, I was lifted up onto a pedestal.

My bigger pieces were cherished, my dusted

flaws wiped away.

With love, I was recrafted,

my broken parts held together with gold.

A gold made of love.

A gold made of friendship, and belonging,

and home.

A gold made of you. A gold of togetherness.