The Case of the Exploding Wedding Jar

Last year in Chiapas
at a small bazaar
I chanced upon a treasure—
a terracotta jar.

It was so very lovely
that I had to pick it up.
The shopkeeper came and told me
it was a wedding cup.

It had two well-formed curving necks,
each one with a lip
so both the bride and groom
could have a wedding sip.

What a lovely vase
I thought that it would make.
I packed it up most carefully,
afraid that it would break.

Once home, I’d soon unpacked it
as fast as I was able.
I put two candles in the necks
and placed it on the table.

This jar has lit my table for
each meal with guests so far.
In between occasions,
I sat it on the bar.

A little terracotta horse
and chalice sat nearby.
They made a lovely trio,
pleasing to the eye.

I have many treasures
—too many to display.
So most of them I use a bit
and then I put away.

But these terracotta pieces
have sat out for one year.
I just cannot hide them,
for I hold them dear.

Tonight I laid the table
for guests from out of town.
I spread the mats and from the bar
three pieces I brought down.

I wanted an arrangement
to put upon the table.
I filled the jar with greenery—
as much as I was able.

Filled with ferns and succulents
and graceful parrot’s beak,
the little jar proved waterproof.
In short, it didn’t leak.

I put it on the table.
‘Twas elegant and chic.
Every now and then I
had to take a peek.

Hours passed. I got engrossed
as much as I was able
in boring sorting jobs
and so, I glanced not at my table.

But when at last I thought to look
I wished that I had not.
For something strange had happened
to my little wedding pot.

My view of it was shocking,
in fact, it broke my heart.
My little jar was lying there
in pieces—burst apart!

The flowers spilled out on the mat
released from their confinement.
The shards of terracotta
had lost their past refinement.

A mystery now filled my mind.
Just what had caused the break?
I’ve had other strange happenings,
but this one took the cake.

I picked up all the pieces,
but found no water left.
The clay was dry, the pieces firm,
their former smoothness cleft.

I put the table greenery
into another pot.
It sits upon my table,
but my favorite it is not.

Those I’ve told the mystery
have failed to find solution,
but I think this enigma
must have a resolution.

If you can figure out just why
my little jar has burst,
I’ll give a lovely prize unto
the person who is first.

There is a resolution.
I’ve figured out the “why.”
If you can tell what burst the jar,
you’ll be the lucky guy

or girl who wins the prize I’ve made
with my own lily hands.
But there will be no fanfare,
and there will be no bands.

I am, you see, in mourning.
I’m sad.  It is a fact.
I miss my sweet Chiapas jar
as it appeared intact.

But even so, I give you aid
to help you solve the riddle.
I took a picture of the jar
and what was in the middle.

Answer quick and you may win.
If not, you will not die.
At my blog you can try
You can try your try.

If in the course of seven days,
everyone should fail,
I promise that I’ll tell you all
the ending to this tale.

I’ll tell the reason for the break.
I’ll open up your eyes.
And then I’ll have the funeral—
and open up my prize.