We Are Fragile
By Molly Swan-Sheeran
We are fragile, like a tiny clamshell bourne out on the water floating boat-like the water slightly higher than sea level around the thin, nacreous edges. We are fragile, we humans, and it tugs at us to let go of old clothes, old letters, half-spoiled food, string, tinfoil, and brittle, tan-edged writing paper. Careful, careful, we go forth from our beds each morning. Watchful, waiting, we gauge the moods of other humans. "I wonder what he meant by that?" We are fragile, and like sentient crystal goblets tissue-swathed in a box, it behooves us to move gently, to ting and ding in a soft, slow meter, to be vigilant against chipping, either ourselves or our fellows, by carelessness or haste. And when we are unwrapped and filled with bubbly, a gentle finger run round the rim will not be cut, but will bring forth from each its separate tone. And when all tones are sounded in harmony our fragile selves will sing together in strength.
© 2001 Molly Swan-Sheeran