“Precious Moments”

The doors open and
Like a suicide jumper with second thoughts halfway down,
There is no turning back.
You pulled me from the shelf of trophies and memories
To paint over the glitter on my cheek with tears.
I’m porcelain.
A figurine.
The souvenir of your graduation summer,
Posed with arms outstretched and dressed in pastel.
Perhaps it wasn’t your intention to make me
A piece in your collection
Or to let me slip through clumsy fingers,
But the ground is rushing up to meet me;
To scatter me across an empty room.
You keep your hands at your side
Motionless
As I fall.