She has a bowl full of porcelain thoughts
That she keeps on the top shelf,
pushed back from the edge,
to make sure that they don't tumble off
and break
Thoughts are fragile, don't you know
Every day she takes them down
In secret, of course
And polishes them til they shine
(They are almost opinions now)
But she is so scared that someone might see
Her delicate ideas arranged in that bowl
That one day, in her haste to hide them away again
She tips the bowl's edge just enough (for it is always just enough) to send her beautiful, porcelain thoughts
Tumbling back down to her once more
She bends to sweep shattered glass from the floor.