Long after Chopin’s Death George Sand, It Seems, Destroyed 200 Letters Returned
to her by Chopin’s Sister, Letters Sand had Sent to Him
The problem with bone china is how heart-
Breaking in its loveliness it tends to
Be, the beauty of the finest fragile part
Of artistry. It’s like your heart. Glue
Can’t make it right again. Intricate veins
And arteries, intricately painted gold
And glazing is not made for snaps and pains.
A crack or brokenness can’t be paroled.
Once ruined both are scarred or worse. One slip
And there’s the destruction of the perfect. The sweet
It becomes the bitterness of loss. His lip,
His lovely lower lip has gone to meet
Another, such a tiny action, but
The delicacy is marred, turns to smut.