by Abigail Blesi, 17

A once priceless collection of glass figurines
Riddled with cracks and broken faces.
Many scorn the collector, believing him
Foolish for keeping such worthless pieces.
Yet he ignores their words, only to
Tell them that they cannot see how
Much like the figurines that they are.

“Your hearts are like glass,”
He says, picking up one of a woman
And hurling it at the hard wood floor.
“You seek something to repair the cracks,
But the moment you fail, you ignore the pain.”
The others flee, leaving him to stand
Amidst the pieces of a shattered figurine.

Most would have seen those many pieces
Of that broken woman as unfixable.
However, the collector bents over carefully
To pick up each and every sliver of glass.
With glass in hand, he halts for a moment
To look over the rest of his broken collection,
Wishing they, too, would be made whole.

“They cannot see how cracked their lives are,”
He whispers, walking towards his workshop
And laying the glass upon the worn bench.
“One cannot fix that which has been broken
Until they themselves have been repaired.”
The pieces of the woman merely wink
In the bright light, bringing some hope.

A fortnight of work, hard and mundane,
Filled with numb fingers and frustration.
Yet at the end of it, one figurine stands
As if she had never been broken in her life.
Gently, the collector returns the woman
To her place, looking with satisfaction,
For at least one he has managed to repair.

“You have thought yourselves so wise,”
He tells those who have gathered there
And his face fills with unfathomable grief.
“Seeking to make yourselves whole
When all along the answers were here.”
Many turn away, unable to believe,
Yet a few lingering, remembering failed attempts.

A figurine is given kindly to each
Riddled still with cracks and flaws.
Few have learned how to repair
The flaws that linger within everyone.
Yet the collector welcomes each one
To his humble home and tells them
The secret to become whole once again.