March 24, 2026

Nothing to Fix

 (2001 plus 2026 rewrite) (c)

Things do not break—

anymore,

in my house—

this space that is all mine.

 

There is nothing to fix.

 

The pottery isn’t flung –

across the room. 

 

There are no shattered vases

in the garbage can—

no shards on the floor.

 

Glue is useless here.

 

The repairman’s number

 is no longer on speed-dial.

 

Things are solid.

Seams do not unravel.

 

Sleeves hang properly—

my arms are not twisted.

 

Things do not bend or split.

 

I do not know what to do with my time.