The Plate by Jo Angela Edwins

The Plate

slips from my wet hand,
cracks in two at the bottom
of the empty sink.

No favorite. I have
eleven others like it,
but still my eyes well

over another
good thing broken this season.
Outside, the wind howls.

by Jo Angela Edwins

Editor’s note: The haiku stanzas of this poem blend strict syllable counts with the freedom of imagery. The last line closes the poem by gluing all the broken pieces together.

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