This poem was a finalist for Plough’s 2024 Rhina Espaillat Poetry Award.

It begins with what is broken,
cast off, abandoned, lost beyond all usefulness or artifice.
The abyss leaves only a remnant on the beach:
a gobbet of green glass,
two twigs,
a skein of fishing line,
the last light ring of a worn-out shell,
three tiny beads.
These withered, weathered, weakened pieces are chosen,
placed with tender delicacy, fresh-bound to make
a coracle, tossed upon the ocean, almost overwhelmed
yet crowned by a bright halo,
tucked under the nook of a cross.
This is a reckless act.
Strange, that what is most frail is what endures,
leavened into iridescent beauty
in the work and cost of love,
bearing with the depths, willing
a new word to be spoken,
and what is done and made with pain.
It begins with what is broken.

Photograph by Megan Pru / Flickr. Used by permission.