My shard

I have a beautiful curved pottery shard picked up along the banks of the River Thames. It's part of an old teacup with edges worn and smoothed by time and the river. I love how the curve fits across my thumb. I love looking at the partial blue flower that is beginning to open just at the place where one edge curves. I carry it with me as a talisman in my pocket, or, when I am sleeping it sets on my dresser. It has become a part of me.

I think that this white shard with its blue broken flower came to me from another life. Often, as I slip my hand in my pocket to close my fingers over its soothing presence, I hear voices whispering from that other world. Someone is holding a teacup filled with steaming milky tea while she chats with a friend on a cold foggy London afternoon. Leaning closer to hear their conversation I see my blue flower, unbroken, as it blooms near the handle where her finger rests along the graceful curve of my beloved shard.

Jesse