The glass slipped

The glass slipped

fingertips not fast enough.

It fell and sang

that sharp crash

like a cry inside the kitchen.

Light shattered too,

fractured on cold tile,

scattered pieces catching

morning’s blunt glare.

I crouched, collecting

each slice of silence

that splintered from the sound.

And something else broke—

the careful space between us,

the quiet I held onto

before it all slipped

like broken glass.