Fault Line

I saw that kid in the Honda Civic,

head on the wheel, the engine still warm.

It’s the shame of it that sticks.

The ceramic bowl is in the trash now,

but I can still see the shard

against the baseboard, white and jagged

as a tooth. I didn’t blame the cat.

I didn't even say the shelf was loose.

I just stood in the kitchen and felt

the air leave my lungs until

I said it. My voice sounded thin,

like a wire being pulled too tight.