Kintsugi Monday

On things broken before breakfast

A bowl broke before breakfast and something broke free.

Kintsugi Monday

Grey Monday. Broken bowl before the breakfast.
Coffee gone cold before it touched my lips.
Your words still ringing in my mind, the whispers
I feel but cannot touch with fingertips.

Dustpan too dusty. Trash cans overflowing
with feelings I don’t need but can’t discard.
And Monday light, still grey, still growing,
reveals the bluffing face of last night’s card.

I reach for gold to mend the broken pieces,
brush painting new life into the clay.
But outside my window, summer whispers,
you can’t kintsugi broken Monday’s grey.

— 20 July 2026
© Lana E. Taylor
ᚂᚐᚅᚐ ᚈᚐᚔᚂᚑᚏ

I’ve pondered for a day on what kind of essay should go with this poem, and decided that no essay was necessary. I can write words. But words cannot fill the cracks.
So I am letting this poem sit on the shelf like a glued-back bowl. Unfilled. Untouched.

Sending love and light,

Lana

of Salt and Silence