broken cup

she sat on the floor, looking down at her broken cup
(it broke on the trip back, you see, crushed in her luggage
amid knickknacks and packages and memories)
it was a gift from her mother
a souvenir from Rome
but to her it was the symbol
of a bond between flesh and flesh,
blood and blood, bone and bone

so the pieces were glued back together
and the fractures pressed tight in her hold
knowing that the little battle
to save that little cup
was in defense of something greater
something that made her feel less alone

something that knew

that what's held in a hand could shatter and break
but what binds to the heart is home