I accidentally broke the canopic jar.
It went thunk then crack. A fault line
and fissure sent the milky remnants
gurgling onto my floor. My pinky toe
got wet. I was moving a box
from the closet. I forgot you were up there
then you came tumbling down,
your bulbous jar smacking the ground,
clinking
remember.
And I do.
The goo, sticking to my toe nail,
The aged tears, in a shallow grave,
wrapped in a shroud. Not sure what
to do with you, I hitched the loss to the post of memory,
stashed on a shelf, exposed to the elements
of my dim lit closet letting spiders spin
the epitaph. Until one day, tussled memory
met the ground.
You always were such a mess.
a.r. morgan
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