If we are bowls of soup, then I’m a broken bowl
In response to Soup Sister by Rebecca Perry
The light here is not worth mentioning
Neither is my day
The rain it washed the leaves away
So in regards to that, my dear, there is nothing more to say.
But the tree that caught your attention that so reminded you of me
It was far more flattering than I deserve
I am not the beautiful tragedy that you perceive me to be.
On that day that you recall, where we were more whiskey than water
When our skin was no more than a testament to our bad judgement of the night before
When we lay in a dark room and you presumed that I was suffering heartbreak of my own.
It was your heart that was breaking but I had simply borrowed it while it did so
Only returning it to you when I felt it had healed.
While I tried to heal you made a meal.
You commented on the time it took me to shower, was it more than a hour?
I can’t quite remember
It was cold was it not?
Maybe it was December.
Or maybe it took all the warmth of my cold not completely caring heart to show kindness to yours.
If that’s the case then I would ask for a round of applause
But not for my pride or for recognition just a silent promise that you would`ve returned the favour had it been me in that position.
I remember hearing the rain and being not quite sure if it was that or
my tears that seemed to splatter with such ugliness on the window sill
So I sat still and spent most of my time observing the tree that you would later compare me to.
And when I think of that moment, because often I do. I remember the conversation that would later ensue.
Because if women are bowls waiting to be filled with soup then I am the broken bowl on the shelf still waiting for a spoon.
If I am the broken bowl then you are the favoured bowl with the theatrical smiley face.
The bowl that if broken nobody could quite replace.
Because if we as women are the bowls then who is the soup?
It’s no doubt needless to say that men need not be confined to a group.
And here you are telling me that the world is too big
The girl who believed that she could see the world in a day if only I had stayed
Yes the world it is sinking and rising as you say
But that is the seesaw of the world we live in, be it as it may.
The rivers have always been this wild my dear,
You would know such things if water was not one of your fears.
The old mountain between us as much as it pains me to admit is where it needs to be.
Because you must be you in spite of what you see in me.
Arrogance is just not knowing and you not knowing me is how it now has to be.
So you may ask how long I stare at the socks in my drawer.
I`d say no more time than you spend staring at that tree.
Because in a funny way they remind me just as much of you, as that tree reminds you of me.
BY ABYGAIL GOODWIN, DISABILITY OFFICER