photo: A.P. Vincenti
Shattered Glass
My dad saved these things, not me
I fell into glass jars on broken pipes, handled,
not grasped by strong fingers that touched me,
I lived in bottles rusted,
places where costume jewelry spoke to me
I was a skeleton key, in closets
I thought us not father, and son
but one stranger to another
It was my mother who wore shards on her skin
broken in
hard from stubbled chin rubbing against all odds
I can not win his love
where glass jars on broken pipes
in closets wearing his skeleton key
hang within.
I fell into glass jars on broken pipes, handled,
not grasped by strong fingers that touched me,
I lived in bottles rusted,
places where costume jewelry spoke to me
I was a skeleton key, in closets
I thought us not father, and son
but one stranger to another
It was my mother who wore shards on her skin
broken in
hard from stubbled chin rubbing against all odds
I can not win his love
where glass jars on broken pipes
in closets wearing his skeleton key
hang within.
ldn
love this
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