Broken

The first entry in a short collection of poems.

“Broken”

We’re more valuable broken.

There’s something about the shards of a mirror,
warm, like Friday night’s leftovers. There’s an idea

sprinkled in the rippling water, a thought drowned with
the rock that broke its surface, a memory lost
in a roar.

You break it, you buy it. If only.

For once broken, you are beyond ownership.
How much? How much to what? To fix me?

I cannot be fixed.

I am—

fragmented, incomplete,

a menagerie of glass like snow and a wish

That—

You could put Humpty-Dumpty together again.