Polish Pottery
Four odd fragments,
My pretty plate slipped from my hand,
Crashed to the floor in front of the fridge
Before the door even closed.
It was too pretty, with berries of blue
and poppies of orange. I used it often
To enjoy its prettiness as I lifted food
From the plate to my mouth.
Carefully I washed it and set it to dry for the next use.
Now it lies there until I decide whether to wash and
save the pieces to use in a collage of sorts, or shall
I just sigh and throw it all away?
ponderingalongthemilkyway 