like the frame that didn’t quite reveal the entire painting
(the rounded edges took short-cuts around sharp corners),
but fits a mirror large enough to reflect
the flawed —
wasn’t deep enough for water, but shallow enough for sand —
an old, empty mason jar for detached buttons.
I’m flexible — I bend;
but push and pull like the trick
I was taught to cut
paper without scissors, and then
but no matter,
what do you need?
Toss me out with
or recycle me as consolation,
but dare you allow someone else to
because then I’m no longer