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
