Smash the glass if you must, yet
do it gently using soft hammers.
Catch the fury in your breath and
release its image on the pane.
The goal is not destruction but creation,
to leave behind something cracked
yet still whole, hanging precariously together,
a reminder that we are all shards about to fall.
Tap and if it forms a line tap again,
until a lip forms a mouth, maybe yours,
a tear- an eye like your mother’s,
again, your father’s shattered brow.
Leave enough of you behind
for them to complete.
Gentrify the other glasses with
the genealogy of all your pain.
Make everything a museum of
all the world’s shattered glass
that none dare destroy lest
even they fall apart.