I thought you were my knight in shining armor.
You swept in, taking me by the hand;
You gently pulled me out of the abyss.
I waited and waited to be your one and only.
As I waited and watched, your collection grew.
It was then that I realized you like broken things.
You keep your life compartmentalized.
Each box unaware of the existence of the others.
I make a discovery.
A discovery of boxes,
Each containing a toy, broken.
The boxes are silent, waiting for you to speak on their behalves.
I hear laughter and hone in on one box.
This box is different. This box contains joy.
A broken toy tending a child.
The child healing the toy.
A broken toy mended by a child.
The child created by my knight, now their knight.
I love this broken thing.
This unspoiled child.
This broken toy. Now unbroken.
Not broken. Now mended strong.
She will take their daughter’s hand and walk away.
By Lisa H. Owens
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