Broken Heart

Her dolls have all been put away, and now
she says her prayers, Hail Mary, full of grace.
My heart remembers pieces of a vow
she whispered in another time and place,
like pieces of a heart within a doll:
ceramic, shattered, hidden from her view,
below a painted face. The shards are small,
too small to represent the love we knew.
They cut their way through flesh, inert, like foam
and buried deep in softness cut the hand
of anyone who dares to take me home,
or anyone who cares to understand
that part of life is pain, the biggest part,
and love, the tiny shards of broken heart.

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