broken pottery

there are parts of me
that want to speak
but i know that i can’t think
that doesn’t feel right
i don’t know
can i have another bite?

it’s funny

when i was young
i would sacrifice my meal
i had a little serving
and my brother was there
and he was looking
so i gave it to him
leaving me with nothing

but now i’m still holding that nothing
a plate of nothingness
while my brother’s got everything

i see him there
i see him holding
i see him consuming
my mother’s attention
my mother’s love
the part of her that i wanted
into his cup that’s overflowing
my cups empty
my cups broken
but then i look over and see his cup
and his cups open
it’s porous
it’s flowing
and i’m like maybe i could bring my cup and his cup and place them together

healing
uniting
connecting

but that requires more of me
more of he
more of we
together
but our past pulled us apart
so maybe to fill that cup
i express myself with this art
and i see the art in him
and he sees the art in me
but maybe there’s a togetherness of space where we can be free
be together and be free
two pieces of broken pottery

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This poem is from the book Poetry from a Dark Night of the Soul