James Thomas Hazard
Of a Room
Put flowers next to the broken Buddha
That you may remember now, not always,
Of a room cast in light of early day
Still in colors cold, soft, muted and old,
An arrangement not of satisfaction
Or comfort but of peace and clarity.
This is all there is one quiet morning
Nothing left of a room to grieve or mend
Of a Room
Put petals next to the broken Buddha,
Layers of long stem, fresh cut, blue and red
Roses that sparkle in the early light
Still cold and wet with rain on the windows
But enough, and you can see the faces
On the walls as they gaze at the flowers
You place one by one by the sacred old,
Worn, yellowed, cracked and nearly discarded
As the portraits of a life in fragments
Gathered with nothing left to lose or mend