Things That Break

I am the owner of plenty of broken things. 

My shoe sole has a tear,

My right eyetooth is chipped,

The window in our sunroom has that crack 

Diverging in two distinct lines.

The computer’s broke down, 

The printer won’t work,

And all those broken habits:

Working out, eating right, going to bed at 12,

Using words to say sorry and love you.

Mr. S., the father of my friend, 

The one who told the corny jokes

And took us bowling and to Olive Garden 

When we were eight and twelve and fifteen, 

He’s breaking down 

In the mind and motor skills.

My friend, she takes care of him. 

She can’t fix the broken, 

But she sits with him on long blue days 

And holds his hand that shakes, 

The one that filled her bike’s tire with air. 

She loves when the words come through wrong.

She looks and doesn’t see him quite the same, 

But keeps loving. 

In the mess of things that stop, won’t work right,

He is the broken thing that matters. 

© Emily Brown, 2015

Home in New Orleans after Hurricane Katrina
Photo from Wikimedia Commons