Kinstugi

 Broken, but not destroyed,

The vase, with cracks tinted gold,

Flaunting, no less than parading its flaws,

Was most prized by the ancient and wise

Philosopher. He knew all too well

The cost of loving only the ideal,

The perfect, the artificial standard:

Wretched, unnatural abominations which

Have seen no trauma, those made him sick.

And in the palace of the emperor, so proud

Of his flawless wears, ancient relics,

The thinker is more impressed

By a branch, grey and bare, swaying in the breeze

Until a sudden, horrible crashing sound

Followed by a hasty, panicked order for repair

Caught his attention.

***

(Minneapolis, MN -- June, 2017)

Another product of my poetry class from the summer of 2017 at the Loft, I thought this poem was nifty because each line either has a comma, a period, or a natural pause in the middle of it, which fits with the theme of the poem. (Kintsugi, as an artform, is the decorative restoration of broken pottery using glue with gold flakes mixed in it to reattach the shards.) Nothing too profound here, but this opened a new dimension to my writing that I hadn't explored previously.

The story, if you're unfamiliar, is as follows (to the best of my memory). There once was a wealthy man who invited a philosopher to his palace to show off all of his vases, ceramics, and other priceless works of art. Unimpressed, the philosopher preferred to sit outside appreciating the natural beauty of a tree. The host, in his anger, smashed one of his vases before having it glued together in the style of kintsugi. Finally, upon seeing this, the philosopher was impressed. Obviously, the moral here is the beauty in imperfect and broken things.