Fragile

Shared on Pinterest, found on Etsy,
original source unknown

We’ve wrapped the family up in thin glass
and chipboard, hoping like hell they never
fall to the floor. The green glass Virgin had
already taken a knock, broken in two right
at the waist by an errant dusting. She was
something Peter found for pocket change
at La Pulga, vessel for what was holy until
a cleaning crew cracked her and hid her: a
crafted thing, not Mary Queen of Heaven,
but still. I’m feeling at least as fragile as all
those keepsakes, now. I wonder, if I learn
kintsugi, could I repair the glass Virgin and
myself, gold lacquer serving as scar and as
stitch? No matter—the dead have no care
for cracked glass, so why should the living?