The Shattering

She broke the flask and poured . . . Mark 14:3

yet I still tilt mine 
in a slow-drip--

fingers grip the oily 
stave of world-waste

only to spare 
mere drops

for all is a cost
too great

(to smash 
what I’ve stored, 
to loosen the clench
of my cracked,
what I hoard)

and brave the bust
of my broken

the burst and spill
of soul-pour . . .  

baring to dregs
what I save

bleeding it 
hallow . . . 

preparing
us both

for the grave. 

​
--
Lee Kiblinger is a Texas poet who loves to travel with her husband, laugh with three adulting children, play mahjong and enjoy words with Rabbit Room poets. Her work can be found in Ekstasis, The Windhover, Solum Journal, Heart of Flesh, Calla Press, Clayjar Review, The Way Back to Ourselves and others. You can read more of her poetry in her first collection, All the Untils (Wipf and Stock) or on her Substack at www.ripplesoflaughter.com.