full moon in Aquarius

mending and untangling

her soft hands were always gently fishing through piles 

the remnants of my overbearing love

torn and weathered, tangled and knotted

she was head tailor of little girl dresses and teeny doll skirts 

emergency room doctor at the stuffed animal hospital

renowned excavator, uncovering delicate necklaces from glittering nests

“why are you so hard on things?” she asked with care

“why does everything I do break the things I love?” I wondered with fear 

I learned how to wait

with patience for the things I loved to be returned to me, ready for another round

I learned the art of moving with care

adding gentle hesitation to my repertoire

I learned that if things could fit in the sewing machine, or beneath the heavy atlas as the glue dried, or in the palm of her magic hand, they could be restored

although maybe not by me

but my love has become no more forgiving

even as it has had to forgive me

I still play too rough

with rigid, delicate, and irreplaceable things

there’s still a pile

sharp corners and distressed edges

collecting dust

places, people, goals, that hurt entirely too much to look at

and they don’t have seams, and the glue doesn’t stick

and my hands aren’t magic

they aren’t even soft