The mirror on the floor
pieces everywhere
getting together
not sure what for.

She stands carefully
reconstructing her life
piece-by-piece.
Some pieces so shattered
there is no reconstruction
only replacing.
The new pieces
become beautiful
and magical additions.

The mirror on the floor
pieces everywhere
some breaks
have reasons, have reasons.

 

The mirror is reconstructed
with some pieces
lost and never to be.
It is easy to say
it is incomplete
or mismatched.
Are we all incomplete and mismatched?
Are we all marked by
what, who, where, how, and why?

The mirror is fixed
and the beauty is
We are art.
We are ourselves.