Friday, August 19, 2011



Half way through making a set of plates,
you dropped one,
watched it shatter across
the cold, pale gray floor

of love, she was already quite uncertain
you could mold all those words you said
into a solid cup for the both of you to drink out of.

That you had been fighting for weeks
about how to best create peace
in the world
never once
crossed her mind,
nor yours,

and yet she could not help
but feel the sudden weight of it all:
that days and weeks
had become months
and even years

how you had once imagined
a world that reflected
nothing back at you
except her,

Once, long ago, she had imagined you rural:
your hands in the soil,
turning last year’s leaves into clay

now, it takes everything in her power
to unfold her arms,
let the fire you had built for so long
finally go out.


Creative Commons License
Creative Writing the Dharma by nathan thompson is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.
Based on a work at