Kintsukuroi: Maura Alia Badji

Kintsukuroi
by Maura Alia Badji

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I have been broken, 
it’s true.
I have been broken
more than once, 
over time, my seams
cracked, my protective
lacquer shattered.

I have been broken,
over and over, more 
than once. By grace,
by God, by happenstance,
by glory I’ve been mended.
I’ve been mended
by the balm of friends’ care,
by the good medicine of music,
the imperceptible healing 
touch of my son’s hand. Listen,
I can tell you I’ve been mended
by my old friends’ voices
flying to me over invisible
lines.

I’ve been patched and darned, 
the warmth of my chosen family’s care
pulled around me while I heal.
I’ve felt the mundane magic, the pure
gold running in, filling up, sealing 
breaks, rising to fill holes, mend 
cracks. The light pulled into
gaps in my skin, the light shining 
through my wounds. I sing,
I sing. I sing
praises, I sing thanks to grace, 
I sing to friendship, a kind of love
that beats back the abyss
to let the light in.