Smashed green glass.
smashed green glass is what I want
to tell her when I was walking home
today. Smashed green glass scattered
around a brown paper bag, part of the
bottle still intact [inside].
No, I won’t respond directly to “How are
you?” or “How was your afternoon?” in
the generic: “good” or “fine”. Because
what exactly do those words mean?
How is it good to hear your kidneys
clanging inside your ribcage?
How is it fine to walk a mile without
smiling? Where is my smile?
Maybe it joined the used pair of
basketball shorts I wore once before
How is it fine that one of the only things
I noticed this afternoon while out
for an hour was the light reflected on s c a t t e r e d
green glass and how I pondered what my
hand would look like rolled in glass:
A cake with shards of clear sprinkles.
I would glitter.
Back Of My Mind says maybe the bottle
wasn’t for alcohol, but ginger ale.
I say maybe my happiness is
This poem is meant to be spoken but I haven’t been able to upload spoken word files yet. Title under construction.