Self-Portrait as Unnoticed Object
You could have been anything.
I kicked you in the dark of night
and you felt heavy against my foot
there in the middle of two rooms.
I wasn’t expecting you there because
there had no name before I saw you.
Neither did you. I switched on the light
and to my shock, there you lay,
quite larger than I’d imagined.
You were the picture I hung the day before
or maybe two. Dust-sized glints of light
burst around your body, clouding the scene.
You looked perfect otherwise,
all your jagged shards still in the frame,
and really, who’s to say you didn’t find me?
If I were to fall like you did,
I’d want every piece of me on display.
I would not go bump in the night.
There would be no thud, only glass.
And blood. And bits, so many bits.