Curing Time

The epoxy is a clear, biting heat

pressing its weight into my thumb.

I try to make the jagged edges meet

until my hands go clumsy and numb.

The ceramic bowl is a puzzle of grit,

a map of a kitchen floor disaster.

No matter how well the fragments fit,

the cracks only show up faster.

A silver thread of resin has dried

against the laminate, hard and thin.

It’s the part of the break I tried to hide

that refuses to let the light back in.