by Jameson Croteau



Can you drink love from a woman,

Even if she has cracks?


She was not perfect.

Nearly, by not.

It was a simple thing,

At first,

To buy gold earrings

To match

Her green eyes.

A small Augmentation.


At parties,

A loose ringlet,

I would fix

With a silver barrette.

Pressed down into her skull.

She adjusted it.

A platinum ring weighing,

Down her frail hand.


Freckles dotting on a nose.

Cute, but a blemish

That I would have to hide.

No. Not disguise,

Show, gild with gold.

It was my job, my only job,

To make her beautiful, admirable, desirable

Despite her humanely flaws.


Piece by piece

I showed her imperfect nature

To everyone,

Until there was nothing left to hold.

A cup shattered to the floor.

It had taken me far too long to realize

That scars were human,

And she was not pottery.


Jameson Croteau is an undergraduate English and business management major at UConn. He has a penchant for violent sports, eggs on burgers, and spewing terrible freestyle raps.

One thought on “Kintsugi

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