left a mess of shells split, cracked, open wide and dry.
White dust, fertilizer powder, and pearls.
I was that raccoon.
Shattered shards,
white vases, and confetti,
broken vows, a hillock of dishes,
covered in white cloth.
A mess of broken things, waiting repair.
are they kept
for memory?
It is springtime.
An opened window lets flies into the room.
They buzz in
find the air too cool to please them,
turn in a lazy circle,
and buzz back out.
