Aftermath

mom loved her china. her collection grew by the year and time upon time i found myself looking upon it. now there was bare wall where the proud plates once hung and an almost-fog covered my vision as i felt cool air on my cheeks. quiet sobs drifted through the house and sirens wailed the forgotten axe had found itself embedded into that proud wall pieces of a proud collection scattered upon the tile. mom's dresser was empty. she held all of our small gifts there those little tokens of clay or jewelry we had scrounged to buy. days of jumping on mom's water bed flashed through my mind as the floor squished with my steps closer, and closer i walked the plastic material on the frame had been stabbed, and emptied. mom loved her china. the reflections of our failures could be seen in the shattered pieces of it.