Jagged bits of broken heirloom Are nestled in the carpet Buried bits like tired souls Yearning for a resting place Shards of Great Grandma’s memory And her ancestor’s antiquity Lie broken on the floor Reduced to a mere nuisance And the somber possibility of slivers Picking up the pieces one by one Taking care to avoid sharp edges Musing on the fact that All it takes is one wrong move For something to fall and break And being ever reminded that Families and family treasures Are often oh so fragile