Broke.
And it’s funny,
I know exactly when the hands ceased to move
Exactly pinpointing time standing still.
My jacket
Tore.
And it’s odd,
I know exactly where the seams ripped away from each other
Exactly able to size up what kind of patch is necessary.
My mirror
Shattered
And it’s telling,
I know exactly how the glass moved from smooth to spiderwebbed
Exactly the pieces and how to put them back together
But something I don’t know exactly
Is when
Or where
Or how
People are broken, torn, and shattered.
We are more
Hidden
Complicated
Intricate
Valuable
Than objects.
And to undermine that is to devalue understanding.
The beauty and the curse of people
Is that we can be known
When we let ourselves.