My Grandmother's Vases
Grandmother kept two large vases high on a mantle
On the front of each was a colonial scene of quality
It was not until we were clearing out her effects
That we discovered the beautiful vases were cracked;
In fact, the backs were largely gone, only the façade
Remained--an illusion for all of her parlor guests.
I loved those vases so; I had no idea they were broken,
Nobody wanted them, so I kept them for myself
In my living room. Yes, they were imperfect, flawed,
And had no value whatsoever to anyone except me
They became symbolic of the mask we often see
Others wearing, hiding their ugly, torn personality.
FIRST PLACE WINNER
Written June 13, 2021
For "Writing Prompt - Flawed" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Constance La France
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