THINGS THAT (EASILY) BREAK |
after Jamaal May
Your mother’s good china. The dozen eggs you hauled home, no mind to the rain-soaked, oil-slicked road or your knack for falling (on the ground and apart). A cell phone screen when you have a tiled bathroom, high counters, and a kitten. The clavicle. Rules, especially when they’re stupid rules, like when you’re a kid and they say No talking! or No running down the ramp! as if not flying by like a windswept baby wipe is easy. As if you’re not a bird. As if. Sticks when you step on them. Sunglasses. and wine glasses. Have you heard of a dinner party where not even a single glass breaks? The ice. When things are right. Day, how it breaks open, how it shatters the night with sunrays, splits you from your sleep, pierces your eyes with blades of light. A fast when there’s pancakes. Garden-ripened tomatoes. Wet paper bags. The lazy coworker in the next cubicle. Your word. Mirrors. Don’t even get me started on headphones. Or hearts. An umbrella, but only when the rain pours, only when the wind wails, only when you need that shelter. |