Supermarket china patterns
show up on the shards
we are always finding
in the dirt next to the walkway
where no grass ever grows
despite our best efforts.

Still, there’s always a big sunflower there
looming over the stupid fairy statue
some previous tenant left behind,
and it always sports blooms as big
as dinner plates.  Maybe
someone knew something
about this weird mystic horticulture
and they get that big
because of the platters
under their roots? The birds
seem to understand the logic
because they start to feast on it
the second the seeds are ready,
so maybe the shards
feed the welcoming flowers
and the sacrifice of cheap plates
had a purpose after all.

Think I’ll buy a few dishes tomorrow,
smash them and lay them
below the soil on the other side
of the house,
just to see what happens next year.
Think I’ll scrap my plan
to move that statue to the basement
and let it be for another winter, spring,
and summer; it’s not hurting anything,
and that cheesy concrete smile
is kind of growing on me.

Woke up wanting to prove a point
about the way people think,

did it by realizing
that needing to prove that point

(that too much self-esteem is a problem,
that those of us empowered to feel so special
are in fact less connected to the needs of others
and in fact hurt the world)

is a symptom of the problem
because I believed that people would listen to the point
if only I would say it, and only
if I said it.

So,
I made waffles instead —

and they were the best waffles
anyone has ever made.