It wasn't the fall that broke it

It wasn't the boy that broke it

It was always broken


And he reached deep into the broken glass cup

And with trembling fingers

Pulled out some pieces

Half glass

Half himself


Like the way he was born

With two hands

One holding a dream

And the other empty

Clenched into a fist made to fight


The edges were slippery and cold

Like chunks of ice

But there was no way to tell what was colder

The ice

Or the blood


The shards made a million reflections of him

An ear, a shoe, a pocket

A tear, a sob

It made the floor a sea

And he was drowning


The sink asked the cabinet

Who asked the oven who asked the toaster

Who asked the table who asked the blender

"Why does he shake like that?"


The glass was a glass

The boy was a boy

The boy was the glass

The glass was the boy

And they were always broken