A Clean Break

It didn't shatter into a thousand teeth

or spray the kitchen with a ceramic rain.

It just slipped my grip and hit the floor beneath,

parting ways without a hint of strain.

I knelt on the linoleum to see

two halves of a mug, heavy and white.

No splinters of what used to be,

just a fault line opening in the light.

The interior clay is a jagged cliff-face,

unfired and raw beneath the shiny glaze.

I could glue it back and leave a trace,

but I’ll probably just sit and stare for days.