The Box

A tear slips down cross already stained skin,

As I stand with head bowed before the table,

Falling to leave a trail very thin,

On a small box  inlined with sable.

Its contents clink softly as I gently grasp a few,

A hand quick to rise to wipe the next tear away,

Then returning to work with fragments and glue,

Carefully fitting two together, my lips move to pray.

A drop from the bottle, to seal the seam tight,

Hoping that this time it will somehow hold strong,

So attentive to hold them in place to heal right,

The moments tick by till I think the time long.

Surely by now the bond has grown strong.

 

A tear slips down to drip from my chin,

As I place the fragments once more on the table,

Returning not to one, but two pieces once again,

Another failure returned to the box lined with sable,

A glance at the clock shows that time speeds to conclusion ,

A last few precious moments filled with desperate attempt,

My breath growing ragged as I seek some solution,

Hands growing shaky, the fragments scream contempt,

You broke us, they cry, we are not easily mended,

My cry answers back, there must be some way,

I imagine I hear their laughter as upended,

They fall from the box to land as they may,

I gather all up, letting none fall astray.

 

A sudden noise calls my attention behind,

An old man stands leaning upon his old stick,

He softly chuckles at the tears in my eye,

“Not attentive enough for an old man’s trick,”

He cackles at his joke and anger fills my chest,

“Leave me to my work, I’ve much left to do,

For this brief moment leave your torment to rest,”

He stares at me with eyes calm and cool.

“Having some trouble I see, in your little task,

The jewelers trade not your skill?”

My look of despair and he needn’t have asked,

“Skilled or not repair them I will.”

 

The wizened face broke into cruel mirth,

Another cackle came forth to illustrate,

“Why so important, these bits and ends of no worth?”

“No worth?” I cried, “They are everything to my fate!”

She’s leaving, if I cannot mend them once more.

He hobbled to the table, lifted the box,

With a tilt the contents fell like rain to the floor,

With a tinkle of glass they scattered, now certainly lost.

“Tell me, young man, should you find some way,

Do you know how this bauble is reborn?”

I hung my head in answer, I’ve been trying all day,

No closer than I had been that morn,

 

He clucked at my surrender with a tap of his stick,

He bent to breath softly long the floor,

As my eyes followed along amazed at his trick,

Bits of glass sealed as tight as before.

In a moment it was lying in the box lined with sable,

A crystal chalice of perfect lines and seams,

I lifted it gently from where it lay on the table,

And admired the cut and the gleams.

I gazed at the man with wonder in my eyes,

A thing of beauty for sure, fit to hold drops of love with care,

He gazed back with a look cold as ice,

“Not easily gained, but easily lost, trust not easily repaired”

 

 

He breathed once more on the cup,

In my hands it crumbled, fell to the floor,

The pieces refused to be picked up,

I stood for a long moment, staring at the door,

She will be here soon, my time has run short,

He gazed at me for a long time in thought,

“Did you think it would happen, a repair of this sort?

It wasn’t as likely as not.”

 

A tear slipped down cross already stained skin,

As I stand alone before the table,

Falling to leave a trail very thin,

On a small box inlined with sable.