A stranger came along one day wanting to buy that heap from me. Not that I can sense the slightest hint of value in it, but the heap of rumble has been there so long that I’ve grown accustomed to it. He was persistent though so I though why not? He’s paying me anyway.
~ The red porcelain heap~
an extract from l’ hommage de a’zone
The heap was there for as long as I could remember. I couldn’t recall too many things anyway. The pieces were of different shapes and sizes. I believe some people would describe them as shattered — that presumed it was whole to begin with.
Some of the pieces were already missing. A few individuals picked a piece that they each liked. Not that I didn’t want to fix it, but it’s broken beyond repair. Besides, I have already forgotten what it looked like initially. The reddish pigments were already oxidizing into a sort of stone grayish hue.
He didn’t tell me he was a craftsman. I should have recognized those rough tough hands. Nevertheless, he got to work, repairing… or should I say attempting to repair it. I dare say I didn’t put much faith in him to fix it. Not completely anyway. Thus it came as a surprise when he pop by to announce his triumph. He even brought it along to show me. It was then when I saw its original state and remembered.
It was a red heart… my red heart.