Fault Line

It was a dollar store bowl,

the kind that’s supposed to bounce.

It slipped from the soapy water

and hit the porcelain sink with a thud.

No explosion of shards,

just two identical moons resting

in the bottom of the basin.

The edge of the break is raw,

a porous, white stripe of bone

where the blue glaze gave up.

I could glue it back together,

but the line would always be there,

reminding me exactly where it failed.