I’m a letter
without need
for response,
a letter between
friends, old friends,
the kind of friend
I had when
I was young,
young enough
not to hide,
when I lived
wide open
to a world
that would break
my heart,
a heart I thought
knew breaking before,
but hadn’t.
I am a bowl
mended by kintsugi,
a whole
made of pieces
broken and fused
together, golden
repair. A stained-
glass window
that fractures
light.
I am apology
and I am forgiveness,
a penance
for the pain
we inflict
and pass on,
a lifetime
of Hail Marys
and hallelujahs,
no longer mine
to carry alone.
I shine
when I find air,
when I join you.