Bedroom Bowls

Ever since I found these bowls at a flea market many, many moons ago, I've had them hanging in my bedroom. One evening I came home, made my way to the bedroom in the pitch darkness and accidentally hit the plate hanger with my shoulder. The whole thing came crashing down and the bowls shattered into pieces. I cried. One of those pathetic kind of cries that comes out of frustration and probably isn't warranted considering the subject matter (broken objects and not broken bones, or feelings or lives). But they were two things that I loved looking at whenever I came into the room.

Now, all glued together — the lines where the pieces join all dark and jarring against the milky backgrounds and pastel florals, reminders of my clumsiness — they tell of broken pieces that can be put back together to be whole once again.