Your Mother Is a Vase (Poem)

Your mother is a vase
Apparently
So you yell and scream when you see it in pieces on the floor
And you go through the mourning motions
Histrionics and drama you didn’t feel at the funeral

As you pick up the pieces of your mother,

“Clumsy” and “Stupid” and “How could you” spit off your tongue
Chipping pieces off the daughter in front of you
The way your mother broke pieces off you
Over a dish that was her mother

What item will you be
To this chipped daughter?
And will it be big enough to both
Patch the hole you’re leaving
And also withstand a future clumsy-stupid-how could you touch?