One

I broke my favorite cereal bowl.
Took a huge chip off the rim.

The ritual for keeping
order in the day
has been cracked
in a thoughtless way
while washing up after
breakfast.

It will nag me
like a snapped string
of prayer beads if I
do not buy another
before tomorrow;
instead of counting
to 108 tonight before bed
I’ll count to one…one…
one.  

There had better be
a bowl in gray or
one in green like the one
I had before this one.

If not, then maybe in blue?
Everything living dies,
after all.

But I fear
what I am going
to go through
if I cannot complete
the ritual as required.

The chip in the rim
may widen to swallow
the moon, 
the sun, my 
last breath.
Maybe yours too.
Maybe all of them.

I dare not leave this house
to go shopping for fear of
what could fall from the sky
so here’s to tomorrow’s cereal
eaten carefully from a chipped bowl.
Here’s to counting on what I still have.
Here’s to one…one…one.