And walking out
I studied the glass that had broken
last night.
I considered how, when I was younger,
I thought that glass broke into very even pieces;
That a cup or a vase could be put back together like a puzzle,
With some effort and some glue.
I thought of all the people that had told me not to touch the broken glass,
my eye-rolls at their caution
as I went to retrieve a piece of the puzzle.
I had to learn that when something is broken, it can sometimes break so hard it turns into sharp,
piercing dust.
That's something you never knew about glass
that life had to teach you.
I reached carefully for the large shards
And felt the sting of broken glass that had turned to dust,
I winced at the smallest protrusion,
And I plucked at the prick of the tiniest splinter.
I examined it closely, with microscopic attention,
and considered how observing life on such a miniature scale is a frightening thing
and that life, like the glass, is similar to a puzzle, but its infinite pieces are locked to a chain of
events,
The smallest slip, and it tumbles, and is broken down into dust-
That's something you have to learn about glass.