Broken Things

By Matt Spaetzel

I came to Kendra when I felt broken. She always had answers.

A hundred pottery shards lined her table when I entered. She sat repairing them with gold lacquer. Nearby sat a finished vase, beautiful gold lines spiderwebbing across every inch. I stood, wiping tears.

“Few know the trade,” she whispered. “Fewer understand the philosophy.”

I watched her. She leaned in close.

“Sometimes broken things are better for being broken.” A smile tugged her lips. “You have any questions today, dearest?”

I stared at the golden artwork—broken, beautiful, perfect. A smile formed. “Actually, I think today you answered them all.”