Spring Cleaning For My Broken Heart
I don’t know how the glass
shattered. I handed it to you,
you didn’t reach for it,
or we simply dropped it together
it was a miscommunication maybe
and you had to rush off to pack
for your new life—in a hurry
to be anywhere I wasn’t.
For a while, I stood in place, staring
at this mess we made.
For a while, I had empathy
for how broken it was and wanted it, too
to feel dismembered.
For a while, I stepped around
that clutter in the kitchen
understanding its confusion.
Something in tonight’s sunset lit
a fire of fury inside me about this
litter you left without regard.
I deserve someone who doesn’t break things,
and if he does, he doesn’t leave disheveled.
I thought this,
I thought all of this,
as I swept up that debris and tossed it
into the garbage
with the rest of the waste.