Broken Again

All of me is shards, as though I were a bowl, a mirror, pomegranate, something whole that death smashed with a fist. My insides greet the outside, I can’t find the glue to make the pieces fit. I’m told to sit in chaos, let the rain, the wind, the snow blow through. Someday, I’m told, I’ll find myself together, someone different than I was before my family left me, one by one, to wonder how I came to be so fragile when I stand alone.

I carry a broom

and dustpan to keep me

together when I leave the house.

published in Garden of Neuro