Structural Failure

It didn't just crack when it hit the floor,

it isn't a bowl or a dish anymore.

It’s a fine, white powder in the grout of the tile,

the end of a trip and a ghost of a smile.

I thought I’d cleared every jagged remains,

but the bite in my heel is the sharpest of pains.

I look at my thumb where the old scar is set,

a map of the things that I haven't fixed yet.