Night of Broken Glass

She was broke
but not broken;
he was fractured
but not shattered.
They did not push the boundaries
but were pushed from the boundaries
of their home
their home.

Storage unit:
Hand-me-down crib
that didn’t match
the hand-me-down furniture
it had come with;
the antique hutch
that had been passed down
from her Welsh grandmother
and the fruit salad loveseat
that had
survived sixty years
in her grandparents’ care,
but not even three
with stair-stepping
Anna Banana;
the his and hers reclining chairs
that would rot in storage—
courtesy of
the Deep South humidity,
where the hot was hotter than hot.

She’d kept the light-up ladybug
that painted the heavens
in blue, red, and green—
a light whose projections
would not appear so unfamiliar,
even on a series of strange ceilings,
for did not constellation
change position,
did not the planets seem to draw near
and vice versa?

The Precious Moments snow globe
would sound the same
in their present darkness.
Bedtime would feel the same—
down to the elephant blankie
that was slightly browned at the corners,
the lavender scent
this mom sprayed

In her husband’s haste to move
to their next temporary home,
the glass globe—
encasing an ideal existence—
shattered like her expectations,
leaving silver glitter
like the pulverized remnants
of cloud linings,
and tiny purple butterfly wings
like conversation hearts
with nothing to say.

She found the courage to move on—
only because even though she could not stay,
just as surely,
had nowhere to go.

2 thoughts on “Night of Broken Glass

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