Kintsugi

historically, poems like this have been bulleted lists

of the ways in which I will fail you,

the ash in my palms

the flowers that have died in my kitchen

the sheer lack of certainty you would feel

if I were to kiss you twice in a row

but it is January, and I am opening the windows

filling my apartment with fresh air

and something inside of me is saying,

try again

I am drinking coffee in the mornings now

instead of battery acid

and I ask for the things I want

and I say no sometimes

so maybe things are looking up,

maybe

I can reach for you and I can find your shoulders

without smearing tar all over your shirt

I am starting to suspect

that the soil in my hair has not been there in vain

flowers are starting to sprout from seeds

I never knew I had planted

I know I have a tendency to fall and scrape my knees

and I’m sure it will happen again while we are walking together, but

I promise I am getting better at pulling myself up

I promise I will only ask you to give me a hand,

not to throw your back out lifting me from the sidewalk

I am consistently amazed

when I watch you breathe all the way to your toes

while you sleep next to me

it is almost like you are not afraid

that you will wake up to find me shattered, or gone

maybe this is a testament

to the sunflowers I have been swallowing,

maybe

it is time to open the cupboards

and let the broken china fall to the floor

and start mending it with molten gold

maybe I can be mended, too

maybe I already am