When I was a child, our home was full of broken things. A coffee cup was never discarded because it no longer possessed a handle. It simply was repurposed into a water glass. I didn't have much money to buy my mother a gift so when I got a chance to head into town to a second hand store I would take my change and search through all the chipped and cracked items never noticing their imperfections only that somewhere among them was the perfect gift for mama.
When I came upon Alice Walker's poem, I Will Keep Broken Things, it reached right into that little girl inside me. My family knew of my love for collecting broken things, but they didn't know the secret I kept that had broken me. Through her words I saw myself and the broken things in me that birthed my passion to write.
Here is an excerpt from Alice's poem:
In my house
You can read the entire poem here.
In my search for the poem I found a video of Alice Walker reading her poem.
One must make a distinction however: when dragged into prominence by half poets, the result is not poetry, nor till the autocrats among us can be “literalists of the imagination”—above insolence and triviality and can present for inspection, imaginary gardens with real toads in them, shall we have it.