Layered Fragments, Becoming Whole

I threw a living pot at the door
One of those orange clay
If we wanted to be elegant it was terra cotta
It hit, Smashingly
the soil exploded
running down
Black soot dirtying my indoor mat
The root ball stayed
but the flowers
shaken alive
I stared conflicted
as petals settled, blood droplets
scattered on the floor
and I wept
without a single drop of moisture
The static enormous
I cannot hear
I want to beat it with a stick
But I don’t.
And I pick up the broken pieces
Threw them in the trash
opened the fridge
made a passion-fruit smoothie.