Crunched windshield from last February.
Glass was embedded in his hand from when the truck flipped.
They hit black ice on the road.
A woman comes to our school a year later
And I sit with him in the bleachers
As she tells us that she could bend down and pick up glass
From the crash site
Where they cut her son out of the molten car.
Broken glass angels pile up fast
On mantle pieces
And roadsides
And the tops of Christmas trees.
Some of ‘em don’t break all the way
But a chip stays missing.
Comments
Log in or register to post comments.