by Abner Dormiendo
As kids, we were always warned
Not to walk barefoot on this
Rural soil. Look closely, see:
A thousand shards of broken glass
Glisten like stars buried beneath
A sky of dirt and dead grass.
As a young man, I have learned
That every bottle of gin hides
A story– a broken heart,
A broken family, broken friendships;
And what I learned eventually,
That every broken bottle bears
A pain that no words can wring
Out of the damp soul. What we do
Instead, we break bottles. Sometimes
On rocks, sometimes on heads.
But always, we let the earth
Swallow the fragments, try its best
To hide them from daylight, then we
Warn the kids not to walk barefoot.