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  • Writer's pictureLee Erickson, MA, LPCC


by Lee Erickson

My beautiful Bulgarian bowl,

given as a gift now lays shattered

in pieces.

Sharp shards destined to cut.

The whole now broken.

            My soul now broken.


All the wrapping and careful packing

couldn’t stop the breaking.

It will never be the same.

            It could never be the same.


I had to call Victoria to tell her the gift she had given me,

a beautiful bowl she carried in her suitcase from Bulgaria,

had broken in my move from Seattle.


I picked up the phone.


I have something sad to tell you.

My older brother Doug took his life with a shotgun.

I don’t know what I’m going to do.


“Did you save the pieces?” she asked?

“We could take the pieces and make a beautiful mosaic table.

“It won’t be the same but maybe we could take the pieces and

create something beautiful”


I have the pieces here inside me.

It will never be the same.

To reconfigure them is painful but

it’s wrong to think it couldn’t be beautiful again.

It’s wrong to think there couldn’t be joy.


My beautiful charmed life

            given as a gift now lays shattered

            in pieces,

            sharp shards destined to cut.

            My soul, once broken, is remaking itself

            into something glorious,

            something new.


The well replenishing itself

to be full

and whole


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