Paper plates don’t break the same way

as glass

they don’t shatter

into pieces

and fall apart

scattered on wooden floors

separated and detached

where was I then

when it all dropped?

Paper plates are thrown away

put into compost

piles heating up to be transformed

churning, turning,

mixed together in chaotic fashion

that doesn’t make sense

and doesn’t have to.

Flipped and tossed

breaking down in service to the garden

of growth

arriving at newness


a helpmeet.

Paper plates can tear in two

two halves that are their own

yet the same

tree of growth

they can fold and bend

like branches waving

and still remain

in thunder storms

and windy whispers that push them sideways

as clouds darken

and lightning strikes off in the distance.

She is dancing,



clapping her hands together,

she doesn’t snap,

she curves,



and receives

swaying in mid air,


Paper plates they can be cut



worn down with time

still they modify

their shape

not rigid nor holding on

nor kept in cabinets

or wrapped in plastic

for very long

they celebrate

a coming together

of diversity.

I’d rather be blowing out candles

making wishes

then washing one too many dishes.

I am learning this lesson

of impermanence

the way that sand castles return back to the sea

nothing lasts forever

locks of love come to change

when it is unlocked

and heads are shaved

it is love that remains

the past comes back

only to remind me of a new birth

a new me

what will my intention be?

“You are strong even though a very sensitive soul”

messages written on paper plates

in red ink

resonate with truth

a knowing that cannot or should not be denied

the fragility of what seems stable

depths of love


yet hardly received

out of that damn story of inadequacy

trying to keep me from being free

but my effort for change

is greater

my desire to discover

keeps calling

my devotion to rise above

is never ending

my commitment to love

is stronger

then that thought.

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